


love me in spite

by purplehedgehogskies



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (In the background I think? Who knows), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Cisnormative and heteronormative society/culture, Enemies to Lovers, Fake Friendship, Fire Lord Iroh, Inspired by Red White & Royal Blue, Internalized Homophobia, Lu Ten (Avatar) Lives, M/M, Minor Aang/Katara, Minor Bato/Hakoda (Avatar), Oblivious Sokka (Avatar), Past Sokka/Suki (Avatar), Past Sokka/Yue (Avatar), Pining Zuko (Avatar), Political Alliances and Political Drama, Post-100 Year War (Avatar TV), Post-Avatar: The Last Airbender, Product of Zukka Brain Rot, Rivals to Lovers, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Sokka (Avatar)-centric, Trans Male Character, Trans Sokka (Avatar), Yue (Avatar) Lives, Yue/OC and Suki/OC, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, getting together (eventually)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 61,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27665186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehedgehogskies/pseuds/purplehedgehogskies
Summary: When the Hundred Years' War ended, Sokka and Prince Zuko did not part as friends; instead they were always bitter rivals. In Sokka's eyes, anyway. Years later, he still harbors his grudge, and Zuko still strides around like he's perfect - which is exactly the problem.It isn't such a big deal, until the Crown Prince Lu Ten invites the Southern Water Tribe to his wedding, and Sokka must represent Cheif Hakoda at the ceremony and reception. It isn't such a big deal, until he and Zuko nearly come to blows and ruin Lu Ten's wedding cake.To prevent panic and international strife, Sokka and Zuko feign a doting friendship, and Sokka perhaps begins to see Zuko in a different light.Red, White, & Royal Blue inspired AU
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all! There are a lot of ways in which this diverges from canon, but the primary things are that  
> 1\. Lu Ten is a nonbender and he was only presumed dead at Ba Sing Se, he was actually injured and missing, had the classic bout of amnesia, and lived in Ba Sing Se for years. That said, Iroh's grief still set in motion the chain of events that ended with Ozai on the throne.  
> 2\. After Zuko is banished/sent to find the Avatar, Iroh begins planning to take the throne with a much heavier hand than in the show. He takes responsibility as the adult who really loves Zuko and acts like the General he is. While also being kind and kinda goofy. Duality of man and all that.  
> 3\. So Zuko was never really a villain, except for when he fought Iroh a little bit because he was troubled and traumatized by Ozai. He also ended up imprisoned at Boiling Rock, so he and Sokka never bonded by going on a field trip there.  
> 4\. Yue doesn't become the moon  
> 5\. Sokka is trans because I said so 
> 
> You don't need to know anything about Red, White, & Royal Blue to enjoy this. The book is just my starting point.

* * *

Sokka couldn’t find his other sock. He laughed to himself at the assonance of it, that similarity between his name and the things he was supposed to wear on his feet, as he knelt on the pelts that surrounded his bed. He leaned down to peer underneath the frame, distracted by the light catching in the ice crystals that were caught in tangles of dust, but there was a sock, the buffalo yak wool dyed a deep purply-blue. Sokka reached under the bed to retrieve it, pulled it on his bare left foot, and then sprung to his feet.

Now, to find his boots.

“Sokka!” Katara’s voice carried from her room across the hall, through his open door.

“Whaaat?” Sokka called back, padding around his room—ah, there they were, tucked behind the chest where he kept extra blankets and furs and a few of his parkas. He should go through those, he thought, knowing that some were too small for him now. His training was paying off.

Katara appeared in his doorway, fully dressed in her flouncy little travel dress, layered with thick leggings, an undershirt, and a fur-lined shawl. When they reached warmer air, she would wiggle out of one layer at a time and be perfectly prepared for the Fire Nation’s balmy spring weather by the time they arrived.

“Put on your shoes,” said Katara.

Sokka gestured wildly with one boot in each hand.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he demanded. 

“Well, Aang is here,” said Katara, a little bit of glee sneaking into her measured tone. “So, we’ll be leaving very shortly.” 

Sokka stumbled over to his window, shoving at the heavy shutters to peer at the courtyard below. There was the great furry shape of Appa, nosing at a pair of guards who laughed and pet him. Sokka caught a glimpse of his father speaking with another figure, wrapped in blue but with telltale orange clothes peeking from underneath.

“Aang!” Sokka shouted from above. He waved, his shoe still in hand, taking care not to drop it out the window. Aang spun and looked up at him, his grin brilliant even from three stories up. The Avatar looked like he would scale the wall to greet Sokka, but Hakoda cleared his throat loudly, reminding him that they were mid-conversation. “I’ll be down in a minute!”

Sokka scrambled to finish dressing, throwing on his lightest coat and following his sister down the hall. He was thankful for the traction added to his boots, a traditional design but with newfangled soles from Republic City. He took the stairs down to the grand entry hall of the Capitol building, speeding ahead of Katara and meeting Aang at the door. He flung his arms around his friend, squeezing tightly as Aang giggled in his ear and returned his embrace.

Sokka drew back after a moment, looking Aang up and down. “You’re taller.”

“Taller than Katara, now,” Aang boasted. “I’m going to catch up to you.”

“I don’t know, man,” said Sokka. “You’re still kinda shrimpy. Aren’t you like, a hundred years old? I think you’re only going to shrink from here.”

Aang shook his head, bumping his shoulder against Sokka’s. “You’re forgetting the frozen-in-an-iceburg part, so really, I might not be done growing!”

Sokka shrugged as though he had no understanding of a human life cycle and playfully tugged the hood of Aang’s parka up and over his eyes. While Aang cried out indignantly, Katara reached the bottom of the stairs and folded her arms, waiting for him to sort himself out and notice her.

Rather than watching their romantic reunion—they’d only been apart a few months, where Sokka hadn’t seen Aang in over a year—Sokka bounded down the front steps and right into his father and Bato.

They were discussing sailing conditions in that overly friendly way they did, Bato’s hand on Dad’s lower back. They thought they were subtle, but there was already a betting pool on when they’d make their relationship public. Katara thought it would be after Hakoda stepped down as Chief, because they so valued their privacy, but Sokka thought they should hold a grand wedding and invite all the royals and dignitaries to the South Pole to show off how they’d flourished since the end of the war.

The wedding would hopefully be big and beautiful enough to rival Prince Lu Ten’s, and hopefully Lu Ten’s awful brat of a cousin would freeze his berries off in the South Pole.

Katara thought that incorporating his personal grudge against Prince Zuko into the wager was a little excessive, but Sokka didn’t care. She also thought it presumptuous to assume the Southern Water Tribe could compete with the grandeur of a Fire Nation royal wedding, but they had yet to see what that even looked like—Lu Ten and Lady Ayoh were marrying at the end of the week.

“Sokka,” said Chief Hakoda, easing away from Bato’s touch and steadying his son with a hand to his shoulder. “Just when I thought you were outgrowing your clumsiness.”

“Once a wobbly otter penguin, always a wobbly otter penguin,” said Bato as he folded his hands behind his back and headed back inside. Sokka heard him cough awkwardly, likely interrupting a public display between Katara and Aang in the entry hall.

Hakoda chuckled.

“Young love,” he said. Sokka made a show of contorting his face as though he were disgusted by it, and his father laughed harder. “Oh, Sokka, like you haven’t been there.”

Sokka blushed just a little at the mention of his ex-girlfriends, who would both be in attendance at the wedding and who both had new partners. Suki was with one of her warriors, the lovely Hayumi, who was undoubtedly worthy; Yue was courting a young member of the Republic City council who Sokka had not yet assessed.

Once, Sokka had thought he would marry Yue and bring the North and South back together again. It was a teenage boy’s dream, doused by all the time they spent apart while Sokka travelled with Aang, and then by the weight of political pressure that they were too young to carry. His relationship with Suki had not been as strained, but it still stopped working for them, somehow. She’d ended things with him over a year ago, now, the last time the gang was all together at Toph’s eighteenth birthday in Republic City.

“It’s been a while,” said Sokka. “Old love has something to it, doesn’t it, Dad?”

“I don’t know,” said Hakoda, scratching at the back of his head. He was a bad liar and he had passed that on to Sokka, unfortunately. At least Katara could lie and scheme worth a damn. “I was still young when we lost your mother.”

“Oh, for sure, for sure,” said Sokka. “Anyway, I gotta say hi to the big man.”

He gestured to Appa with outstretched thumbs, turning to head over and give the sky bison some loving pats and kisses, but he was tugged back to his father—Hakoda’s fingers curled in Sokka’s hood, holding on with a serious grip.

“What?” Sokka demanded, pouting.

“Can you promise me something, son?”

“Yeah,” said Sokka. He would do almost anything his father asked, since the moment Hakoda had left the village when he was a child, through the end of the war and the reconstruction. He was loyal to a fault, especially with Dad.

“Promise me that you won’t start anything at the wedding,” said Hakoda. “If I could be there, I would tell you to have fun, but I can’t. So, I need you to act in my stead and represent our people. That means _decorum and responsibility_.”

Sokka sighed. “Of course, Dad.”

“So, what will you not do?” asked the Chief.

“I will not…drink too much wine and eat all of the cake?”

“Sokka.”

“I will not…bring my boomerang?”

“Spirits, Sokka,” Katara interrupted as she stepped outside, Aang trailing after her with his hand secured around hers. “He just wants you to be civil with Prince Zuko.”

“Oh,” said Sokka.

Katara laughed, walking off with Aang at her side to see that their luggage was securely strapped to Appa’s saddle.

“Son?” said Hakoda, stern and expectant.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Sokka, waving his hand dismissively. “I won’t get into it with Zuko, okay? I won’t even go near him. How’s that?”

His father nodded. “That’s my boy. I trust you.”

Sokka smiled as he wormed out of his father’s clutches and sprinted over to where Appa was polishing off his refreshments. He narrowly avoided the bison’s giant slobbery tongue, instead burying his face in the fluff of Appa’s front leg until his nose tickled too much. He sneezed into his elbow a few times, then clambered up to join Aang and Katara in the saddle.

Katara eyed him suspiciously, but Sokka shrugged it off. It would be fine—he just had to ignore Zuko’s annoying face for a few days, and then they’d be in the clear. His father trusted him, and Sokka wouldn’t betray his trust.

Yeah. It would be fine.

****

It was not fine.

Zuko was just that infuriating. From the moment they arrived, Zuko was there, bowing his stupid little respectful bow, his stupid hair ornaments sparkling in the afternoon sun. Sokka suppressed the urge to throw Katara’s bags at Zuko’s head, instead tossing them down to the porters waiting at Appa’s side. As Lu Ten and Zuko escorted Aang and Katara to the palace, Sokka hung back and flew Appa to the stable that Fire Lord Iroh had commissioned just to house him.

Appa’s place was closer to the edge of the caldera, with a grazing area and access to the lake; Sokka took his time walking to the palace, shopping a little in the market district and trading his thick Water Tribe garb for a pair of loose, cropped breeches and a long gray tunic. He switched his socks and boots out for strappy sandals and added a beaded bracelet to the ensemble because he could. Of course, he needed a new bag, too, to carry his old things to his quarters.

The royal family almost always put them up in one of the grand villas right outside the palace walls; they were not quite as flashy as the royal palace itself, but they were still something to behold. The largest villa was almost as large as the Southern Water Tribe Capitol, with a ballroom to match, but Aang preferred the more modest East Villa, where he slept on a cot in the servants’ quarters—and hopefully not in Katara’s bed.

When Sokka arrived at the villa just outside the palace walls, he dumped his things in his usual bedroom beside the luggage the porter had brought in. It was well past lunch time, but he’d run out of pocket change and hadn’t been able to peruse the food stalls on his way—so he found the villa’s kitchens and snooped around the icebox. He found a jar of some pickled fish and vegetable blend that looked okay, took a seat at the table in the next room, and ate from the container with his fingers.

“You missed tea with the Fire Lord,” said Katara from somewhere behind him, startling Sokka half to death. A piece of carrot caught in his throat and he gagged. “It was lovely.”

“Warn a guy,” said Sokka, dipping his fingers back into the jar and grasping a piece of fish. He slurped it into his mouth, bringing a grimace to Katara’s face as she rounded the table and sat across from him. As he chewed, he asked, “Where’s Aang?”

“He went off with Zuko.”

It was Sokka’s turn to frown. He doubled down on his snack, eating a slice of cucumber whole, gulping down some of the brine.

“Honestly,” said Katara. “You are disgusting.”

Sokka stuck his tongue out at her.

“Mature,” she said. “You know, Zuko’s quite sweet if you’re _polite_ to him. I didn’t like him either when we met, but we were all so…well, traumatized by the war, I suppose. Things are better now.”

They’d met Zuko shortly after rousing Aang from his iceberg nap, coming down from a warship that waved a white flag. It was an unsettling show of civility, the way General Iroh sat with Gran Gran at their table and discussed the Avatar’s training and his plans to take his throne back from Ozai. Zuko had glared at the food and tea he was offered, and when Sokka offered him a coat, he spat a few choice words and disappeared back into the hold of his iron beast.

Although Zuko was on their side, he always acted like he’d just eaten something sour. Even when he was humbled by customer service in Ba Sing Se, he still gave Sokka the coldest of shoulders. Azula and the Dai Lee chased them all out of the city shortly, scattering their efforts once more. The Day of Black Sun invasion went poorly, but their forces narrowly avoided capture and they met up with Zuko again, having escaped Boiling Rock with a handful of others—including Suki, a powerful firebender named Chit Sang, and Prince Lu Ten, who had also been apprehended in Ba Sing Se.

From there Zuko bonded with Aang as they studied firebending together, took Katara on a revenge field trip, and somehow won over Toph by doing absolutely nothing. But he and Sokka were still at odds, even as Aang took out Ozai and brought the war to an end.

But Zuko was haughty and princely and could have been a chi-blocker in another life, with how expertly he found all of Sokka’s proverbial pressure points. A master jerkbender, Sokka called him.

“I seem to remember that you hated Zuko even more than I did,” said Sokka, tapping his jar against the table. “And now you sing his praises.”

“It wasn’t personal. I thought it was, because of Mom, but…that wasn’t Zuko’s fault,” said Katara. “I also found him annoyingly cute, so, there’s that.”

“Gross!”

“I guess you’re still mad he called you a…what was it?”

“Miserable fucking maggot slug born in a shit bag.”

“That’s right!” Katara laughed with her whole body. “It’s so funny, now.”

Sokka munched and crunched angrily, finishing off the jar of whatever and carrying it off to the kitchen, placing it in the basin. Outside, he could see plumes of fire coming up from beyond the palace walls—firebending practice in the gardens, he assumed. Must have been what Aang was doing with Zuko. He huffed and turned down the hall, to explore the villa.

He started with scoping out the other guest rooms. The downstairs suite where Yue sometimes stayed with her parents was made up; there was another room set up downstairs, as well as the one across the hall from Sokka’s and Katara’s. The rest of the furniture was covered in sheets to keep off the dust and to combat the sun’s efforts to fade the rich red bedspreads. The one door at the end of the hall that was always locked when they visited was still locked.

The villa included a bathhouse, with showers and a deep bathing pool; Republic City Industries had patented the technology to make any pool into something like a hot spring, and Sokka found that they had installed the warm jets in the villa. He was excited to try it out and was glad he’d brought the trunks he purchased when they stayed here in the winter, for some diplomatic thing Sokka hadn’t paid much attention to.

He’d gone swimming in the main palace’s pool then, amusing himself by tormenting Zuko, splashing his face and spewing water from his mouth like a fountain spout. Zuko hadn’t lasted very long, grumbling and leaving Sokka alone in the bathing pool—it was dreadfully boring, then, so Sokka had gone to annoy Katara in the gardens instead.

Sokka groaned when he returned to the common rooms to find that Aang was still out, so he snatched up the bound copy of the epic poem _King of the Skies_ , a record of a legendary journey shared by a fire nation prince and an unnamed orphan warrior. It wasn’t the plot so much as the poetry that kept Sokka caught up in the book, but he could never find another copy—not a scroll or bound folio—so he read this one again and again. He had left off in the middle of the fourth song, so labeled because the poem was once an oral tradition.

It was one of his favorite parts, the warrior combing the desert for Prince Zindra, afraid that his friend has been killed—

“Zindra, heir not to this crown but to this heart, do you breathe no more? Do you leave us lost in this deep, dry sea?” Sokka murmured the passage to himself as he settled into a plush chaise near the window. “Strange is this darkness, when the sun still soars. Strange is the deep pull from my chest—”

“Bereavement paints the sky again, and I lie bloodless with its brush.”

Sokka jumped half a foot in the air and yelped, turning his head to see none other than the royal pain himself standing with his hand on the back of an armchair, his hair and robes just untidy enough to show he’d really been sparring with Aang. Zuko stood in the shadowy part of the room, so the pupil of his good eye was wide, almost blocking out the amber-gold iris.

“You…you _fiery camel’s ass_ ,” said Sokka, snapping the book shut and rising to his feet. “You fucking scared me half to death.”

“Fiery…camel’s ass?” Zuko sputtered. “That’s new.”

“Of fucking course you know _King of the Skies_ ,” said Sokka bitterly, clutching the tome to his chest. “Nothing is sacred.”

“It’s…Sokka, it’s Fire Nation literature. That you are reading in my family’s villa,” Zuko said. “Why wouldn’t I know it? It’s _mine_.”

“It’s yours?”

“Well. My mother’s, actually.”

“Oh,” said Sokka.

Zuko’s mother had contacted him after the war, seemingly rising from the dead, but she had not moved back into the palace or even back to the Capital. Sokka didn’t know how touchy the subject was, now that she wasn’t gone but she wasn’t present, either.

Zuko did not bother to say anything else.

“Do you want me to…stop reading it?” asked Sokka.

“No,” said Zuko. “No, not at all.”

“You found Sokka?” asked Aang from down the hall, his voice growing nearer. “Sokka, guess what Zuko told me?”

“Um,” said Sokka, still rendered speechless as Aang rounded the corner and entered the sitting room. He looked absolutely delighted, and when Zuko turned to him, his blank expression faded into fondness.

“Toph is staying in the house with us! She’s arriving tomorrow morning,” said Aang, beaming. “Oh, it will be just like old times.”

“I better prepare to be punched excessively,” said Sokka, still holding the book against his body, like it was glued there. “Y’know, ‘cause she hits me to show her affection.”

“That she does,” said Zuko. “Anyway, hello, Sokka. I missed my chance to welcome you.”

“Consider me welcomed,” Sokka replied. “Don’t you have something hoity-toity to do?”

Something flashed in Zuko’s eyes. “Yes, I’m sure I do.”

He took his leave with a friendly squeeze of Aang’s shoulder, and Sokka could hear him saying goodbye to Katara on his way out. Her response was low and soft, but otherwise inaudible; the sliding door opened and shut, and moments later Katara padded down the hallway.

She raised an eyebrow when she spotted Sokka, whose face must have betrayed his disgruntled confusion.

“What did he do this time?” she asked.

“Nothing!” said Sokka, tossing _King of the Skies_ aside and leaving the room, thundering to his quarters upstairs.

He drew his sword from his bag, where he’d wrapped it in clothes to shelter and hide it, and he practiced stances and parries for a few hours until Katara called him down for supper. For Katara and Sokka, the cook had prepared some meat in a spicy sauce and ladled it over rice, and for Aang she made a meatless version. Sokka ate two helpings and thanked her profusely. The cook was pleased, blushing at the praise and promising that the Fire Lord would hear their compliments—as though she could not take them for herself.

Sokka was glad this meal was just himself, Aang, and Katara. The rest of the week they would be stuck attending formal dinners in the palace with the royals and nobles, culminating in the wedding feast at week’s end. He kind of wished they hadn’t had to arrive so early, but Lu Ten was reviving a prewar tradition involving all four nations and the Avatar, slated for the day after tomorrow, and his bride-to-be had insisted on a grand pre-nuptial gala the night before the vows.

More days to deal with Zuko, who just had a tendency to pop up anywhere Sokka was, even when he was trying to avoid any encounters at all.

Before he went to bed, Sokka retrieved the book from the chaise and brought it to his room, where he read by lamplight until the warrior and the prince’s reunion at the end of the song. It always made his eyes well up, and he found himself wondering idly if Zuko had ever gone teary-eyed here, too.

****

Toph arrived with little ceremony—a porter dropped off her bag and moments later she was sitting on the floor at Sokka’s feet, complaining about how Republic City was growing so loud. Her work there was varied—she was trying to teach metalbending, but it was a frustrating pursuit; she was helping with the expansions in all directions, especially when it came to underground tunnels, but also the sparkling new architecture with chrome and steel. She couldn’t say how it looked, but she knew there was a lot of buildings going up and a lot of people and industry moving in.

Toph was also scheming with a few other benders she’d met, devising a new way to show off bending skills in competition. Unlike her old pastime, beating up other earthbenders in secret, this new invention would be a publicized team sport.

“The best part is that we might be able to cast the announcer’s voice all throughout the city—maybe even the world,” said Toph animatedly. “They’re calling it _radio_.”

“Radio?” asked Sokka, his interest instantly piqued. “What is it?”

“There are waves in the air, right? Sound, energy, light. Well there’s a kind of wave they’ve figured out how to pick up with machines and translate into sound,” Toph explained, her head turned toward Sokka, knowing he would be the one most interested in the science of it. “So, someone at the university found that if you use this technology, you can send your voice along these waves, and the machines will pick them up. They expect that almost everyone on the continent will have a radio by the end of next year.”

Their conversation quickly became all about all the new inventions of Republic City, boring Aang and Katara off of the loveseat where they canoodled—Sokka heard splashing soon enough, and figured they were water-fighting in the bathhouse. He wondered idly if someone would spar with him later—Suki, maybe, or Lu Ten and one or two of his favorite blades.

Zuko had a set of dao blades he was pretty brilliant with, because he lived to be annoyingly perfect at things, but Sokka would not fight him on principle. Because Zuko hated fun and took training too seriously, and because if he actually fought Zuko, he’d never hear the end of it from his father. Not that they hadn’t come to blows before, but in the interest of preventing an international incident it was always kept secret or heavily downplayed.

“Your heartbeat is weird,” said Toph.

Sokka shoved his foot against her shoulder, tipping her over. Toph went down easy, but quickly reached up to grab his ankle and drag him half out of the armchair before he got her off of him. She cackled as Sokka curled up into himself on the chair, his limbs kept close and out of her reach.

“What were you thinking about?” asked Toph.

“Fucking none of your business, that’s what,” said Sokka.

How she had learned to roll her eyes was anyone’s guess. Like, seriously—how did she even know it was something people did?

Toph tilted her head and pressed her hand firmly into the floor again, smiling and getting up before she even heard the knock on the door. She knew her way around the villa, knowing more intuitively that there was a step up out of the sitting room than Sokka did—he’d bruised his shins several times because he forgot about it. Toph made her way to the front of the house, sliding the door open, having figured out who it was with her crazy Toph powers.

Sokka stood at the end of the hall as Zuko toed out of his fancy prince slippers and stepped into the villa, allowing himself to be manhandled by tiny little Toph as she greeted him by burrowing her knuckles into his delicate royal scalp.

“Watch the hairpiece,” he said.

Toph blew air between her lips in a show of ambivalence. She did not give a shit about his hairpiece.

“Prince Zuko,” said Sokka when Zuko was upright again, smoothing down the rumpled fabric of his tunic and adjusting one of the little rope fastenings at the collar. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, I heard Toph had arrived,” said Zuko. “I had to say hello.”

“Ah,” said Sokka. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Sokka,” chided Toph, her tone more taunting than reprimanding. Toph did not uphold civility or manners, she knew only chaos. “I’d love to spend time with all of my friends, together.”

Sokka glared at her, but she obviously could not tell.

“If looks could kill,” muttered Zuko. Sokka mouthed the words mockingly as he turned back into the sitting room, returning to the chair. Zuko and Toph joined him, Zuko striking up an easy conversation with her about the city and professional bending—she’d apparently already told him about her plans, and he seemed interested. Sokka had assumed he would have a stick up his ass about the sanctity of bending or something, but Zuko had questions about how they sought to incorporate water, earth, and fire into one game.

Sokka half listened, fiddling with a tassel on his chair all the while.

After Aang and Katara emerged, a little damp but plastered with smiles, they all went back to the palace together for lunch; Sokka took up the rear of the group begrudgingly, his hands in his pockets all the way to the smallest of the palace’s dining rooms. The table was low to the ground with cushions around it, just like the one in the villa, and Zuko sat at the head and poured the tea that a small servant boy brought out.

The meal was worth the hike, made up of thick noodles in a dark broth—though Aang was served a version with a lighter vegetable broth. Apparently, Azula was eating a vegetarian diet lately, though Zuko was skeptical that it would last—it was not that Azula lacked determination, just that her attention was hard to keep. Her boyfriends bored her, the palace life had bored her, and it was only a matter of time before living in Republic City and avoiding meat would bore her as well.

Aang thought she could stick to it if she was committed to preserving animal life, and Zuko and Sokka laughed in unison at the suggestion that Azula was a vegetarian because she felt bad for the animals.

“Well, people are complicated,” insisted Aang. “She could just…have more empathy for creatures than people. Sometimes it’s hard not to.”

“No way,” said Zuko. “Azula’s favorite animals are big and scary and eat the weak ones for breakfast. She’s going through phases, that’s all. Lady Ayoh—she studied at the university in Ba Sing Se, you know—says that Azula is making up for being told who she was for so long.”

Katara nodded sagely. “I never thought I’d say it, but I’m glad she’s doing well.”

“Yes,” said Zuko. “I feel the same way.”

Sokka slurped at his noodles and Katara gave him a pointed look. It was more than just the silent reprimand for his messy table manners, but something else, too—something like a _gotcha_. Sokka made a face right back at her, and she sighed like he’d missed the point (which he probably had, but whatever) and returned to the meal before her.

****

More guests arrived as the day dragged on, but Sokka kept out of the way—he found Suki with a few other Kyoshi Warriors in their training room, peppered her with sloppy, affectionate kisses on her face until Hayumi hauled him off. She kissed Suki full on the lips and Sokka rolled around on the floor laughing, because it didn’t hurt at all to see Suki happy with someone else. Not the way he thought it would.

Suki wasn’t wearing a full face of makeup today—she wasn’t on duty—so Sokka could see her blush when Hayumi walked away to take up her post in the gardens. The princes apparently spent a great deal of time in the gardens.

Sokka sparred with Suki; he was rusty but he held his own. He borrowed a training sword for another round, which eventually devolved to less of a sparring session and more of a whacking-one-another session.

They collapsed on the mats together when they burned themselves out, staring at the ceiling and laughing breathlessly.

“It’s good to see you again,” said Suki.

“Yeah,” said Sokka. “I missed you.”

“But not us?”

“No,” said Sokka. “I mean, at first. But now its…less.”

She nodded. “How’s the South Pole?”

“Cold,” said Sokka with a chuckle. “Living in a big house is weird, and they’re talking about turning the capitol building into more of a palace—I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“You get used to it. Living in a big place,” said Suki. “Our quarters on Kyoshi island were cozy but we could never get away from each other, you know? Now there’s all this space to explore, to hide, to have a moment alone.”

“At the capitol it just feels like there’s more space to be empty.”

Suki nudged his arm and Sokka sat up, leaning over his bent knees. She stayed on her back, peering up at him through her lashes.

“I’m not trying to be a downer. It’s beautiful, and the people are safer and better fed than ever, and…we’re more than just surviving now,” said Sokka. “It’s just different.”

“Different can be good,” said Suki.

“Yes,” Sokka said, resting his chin on his knee. “Different can be good.”

“So, do you have actual guards yet?” she asked. Sokka sighed—Suki had been pushing for details on how the Chief’s family was protected, now that the tribe was gaining political influence and stratification and whatnot. They hadn’t yet established a force the last time Sokka saw her, but she’d be glad to know the capitol had instated guards at the entrances and patrolling the halls in the evenings.

“Yes, at the house. But no, not for everything,” said Sokka. “We’re not that _fancy-shmancy_.”

“Good,” said Suki. “It’s not about being…fancy, to me. I just want you safe.”

“What’s a boomerang for if not to keep me safe?”

Suki tugged on his wolftail and started another scuffle where they poked and prodded and smacked until they couldn’t stop giggling again.

****

The thing about large banquet dinners was that the conversation overlapped so much that Sokka ended up remembering very little about who was talking and what they said. He sat next to Yue and talked about her thoughts on running for the Northern chiefdom when her father stepped down, and she finally introduced Sokka to her Republic City beau. Gi the Councilman wore large, round spectacles and his hair escaped his topknot in curls around his ears and temples; handsome in a soft, unremarkable way, Sokka decided. He wasn’t striking, but he looked kind.

“A little bland, maybe?” Sokka had asked Yue, leaning close and whispering while Gi spoke to someone across the table.

She laughed musically. “No,” she said. “Far from it, actually.”

The dinner ended with a little round dessert plate with two dollops of thick cream, dusted with something gold and gems made of crystalized sugar. Sokka ate his own and stole one of Katara’s, earning more of Yue’s lovely laughter. When they returned to the East Villa, flanked by Yue’s family and their guards, Yue walked arm-in-arm with Sokka, but it was Gi who kissed her goodnight.

The next day was filled with preparations and meetings before the Wedding Summit, where Sokka was meant to represent the South and give his blessing and approval to the bride and groom. It was an old tradition from when the nations were allied with one another, meant to reinforce those alliances when influential people married. Sokka thought it was cool that they were bringing something back, but found it a little archaic that Lu Ten and Ayoh should have to ask a bunch of near-strangers to okay their marriage.

He brought this up to Zuko, who narrowed his eyes at Sokka before answering.

“It’s a time-honored tradition,” he said. “It isn’t about Lu Ten and Ayoh, it’s about the unity and peace between nations. Not only that, Ayoh is nobility from Ba Sing Se; this is the first time in a century that the future Fire Lord will take a wife from another nation.”

“Then why do we specifically bless _them_?”

Zuko groaned, hiding his eyes with his palm for a moment.

“It’s symbolic, Sokka. You understand symbolism, don’t you?” he asked.

Sokka shrugged. Zuko muttered to himself and walked away to speak to his cousin, effectively ending the conversation. Fine, then.

The ceremony that evening began without a hitch, each representative sitting beneath a woven banner with their insignia, the air rich with incense and cloying florals from the petals and flowers that adorned the ballroom. Sokka sat with his legs folded a few feet from Yue’s father, Aang on his other side—Aang was vital not only because he was the last of the Air Nomads, but also because he was the Avatar and thus represented the Spirit World.

The couple started with Fire Lord Iroh, sitting before him and bowing their heads—he blessed them by lighting his candle and added on a kiss to each of their foreheads. Sokka saw soon enough that this was Iroh’s addition and not a requirement, breathing a sigh of relief when the Earth king’s blessing came in the form of precious ore placed in Ayoh’s palm. The Northern Chief gave them water from the Spirit Oasis, and Sokka sprinkled them with water from a vial that Katara had brought from home. Aang bent a gentle breeze and assured them that the spirits took kindly to their union, and Gi, representing the Republic, took their hands in turn and murmured something inaudible.

It was over sooner than Sokka had thought it would be, and his sister and his friends were at his side in the ballroom soon enough to talk about it. Yue thought it was beautiful, Toph muttered about having no idea what was happening, and Katara looked deep in thought. Aang burped into his hand and confessed he’d been holding it in the whole time.

In Sokka’s peripheral, he saw Prince Lu Ten in his grand Fire Nation robes approaching them, so he turned and bowed in greeting. It had felt strange during the ceremony when he was not supposed to bow to the Prince, so he made up for it now. Lu Ten bowed too, and when his hands parted he lifted them to Sokka’s shoulders and squeezed firmly.

To be friends with the future Fire Lord was at once strange and normal. He was imposing with his broad shoulders and Fire Nation finery, but Sokka had seen Lu Ten half-starved upon his prison break, dirt-streaked and exhausted at the crux of that last battle. They had sparred a few times in the years since. He was like his father, wise and kind, but his will was stronger and he would be an excellent leader someday.

“Thank you for coming,” said Prince Lu Ten. “And thank you for the Southern Water Tribe’s blessing.”

“Of course,” said Sokka. “I—um, we, all of us, wish you a long and happy marriage. It was…interesting to revive history like this.”

“I’m glad you thought so,” said Lu Ten. “My cousin was concerned you wouldn’t take it seriously, but I knew we could trust you.”

As if he knew they were talking about him from across the room, Zuko turned his head towards Sokka and Lu Ten and raised his brow, catching Sokka’s eye. Sokka resisted the urge to scowl right back at him, both out of habit and because he’d expressed his “concern” to Lu Ten. As much as Zuko paraded around acting respectful, he clearly thought Sokka was an ass who couldn’t do anything right and ruined things for his friends.

Lu Ten moved on to speak with Yue and Gi, and Sokka slipped away from the group to get himself a cup of the warm rice wine he so loved, knocking shoulders with Zuko on the way. He apologized with a brilliant grin and went on, but Prince Firebrains got the memo and sidled up to the table beside him.

“You did well,” said Zuko.

“There wasn’t much to fuck up,” said Sokka, taking one of the ceramic pitchers, warm under his palm, and poured without looking at Zuko. He downed the first cupful smoothly and all at once, bringing it down harshly against the table to pour himself another. Zuko flinched. “What?”

“You’re meant to sip it,” he said. “Not to slam it around.”

“I’ll slam whatever I want, Prince Sifu Hotman.”

Zuko heaved one of his long-suffering sighs and delicately poured his own rice wine, striding off through the grand doors that opened out onto the gardens, which were lit with pink lanterns to cast the courtyard in a romantic, rosy glow. Ayoh was traipsing around the pond with a young woman who looked like her sister, who held hands with another young person dressed and poised very androgynously. Sokka’s gaze lingered on the trio, with admiration and curiosity, as he followed Zuko into the garden.

“Sokka,” said Zuko sharply, drawing Sokka’s attention back to him.

“Huh?”

“Shall we toast?” asked Zuko, sitting on a small bench near the wall adorned with climbing vines and soft orange blossoms. Sokka sat on the other end, leaving space between them. Zuko lifted his cup to clink against Sokka’s. “To my cousin and his bride. The future of the Fire Nation.”

Sokka nodded his agreement and sipped his rice wine, this time allowing himself to revel in the way it felt in his mouth. The last time he’d imbibed with Zuko was last year in the City, on a balcony overlooking construction of towers that stretched high like forests. A momentary truce, sitting close together to ward off the evening chill neither of them were dressed for—Sokka remembered little else about it but the warmth of Zuko’s shoulder through his thin tunic.

Sokka finished his drink and cleared his throat, rising to his feet and adjusting his lightweight traditional robes, smoothing his hands along the beading at the lapels. Zuko watched his hands, like he was dazed, and his eyes trailed up along the trim of Sokka’s outer robe to the fur lining along the collar.

It was spring formalwear, but it was still meant for freezing South Pole temperatures.

He couldn’t really explain why he was leaving Zuko’s side when they were having a rare moment of peace, so he just turned and went back into the ballroom to find someone who would lend him an ear or join him for another drink.

When he looked back over his shoulder, Zuko was gazing down into his empty cup, turning it around and around in his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bridal gala and the wedding!  
> RIP Lu Ten and Ayoh's Cake, Gone Too Soon

* * *

Sokka had ended up having much more to drink, laughing and monkeying around with Aang through the night, dozing in the big palace lounge on someone’s shoulder—Suki, he thought, but he couldn’t be sure. Someone who smelled like Suki, at least.

He did well to stay out of any real trouble, avoiding Zuko for the rest of the party and eventually wandering back to the villa with Toph on one side of him and Aang on the other, singing an old Fire Nation love ballad and butchering the words. 

Upon arrival Sokka stumbled up to his room and collapsed on the bed, and he slept well into the afternoon. Katara woke him after everyone else had eaten lunch, which he was rather bitter about, but she offered him some steamed buns and tea that they had saved for him and he dragged himself down the stairs.

With one hand, Sokka ate, and with the other he supported his head as he watched the world through narrowed eyes and tried to soldier through the slight headache that danced around in his skull. The lawn between the villa and the gate that led into the palace proper was a brilliant green through the window, interrupted by Yue’s long white hair in a simple braid down her back, the blue blanket she sat on, and Gi reclined at her side.

He found himself feeling a little envious of them, not because he longed to be the one beside Yue, but because they were out in the sun when the very idea hurt his head; they were stretched out on a blanket together enjoying the day with someone dear. Sokka loved love, loved the experience of being in love, but he didn’t pine for his former girlfriends. He just loved them differently, now.

Sokka polished off the buns and the tea, feeling a little better after the fact, and bringing his plate and cup to the kitchen. He retrieved _King of the Skies_ from upstairs before stepping outside and rounding the back of the villa to the shaded sitting area with a hammock made of deep red cloth. Sokka nestled himself in, one leg dangling to control the swinging but not enough that it put him in jeopardy of flipping out.

He read the next installment of the adventure, the beginning of a few songs about the war in the Earth Kingdom that matched up with the legend of the Cave of Two Lovers. Sokka noted the time Prince Zindra and the warrior spend underground, wondering if they happened upon the same place without knowing.

He lingered on a line that always seemed to catch in him, like a hook catching in the threads of woven fabric.

“And war thunders on to the drum of man’s nature,” it read. “Though warrior by name, he so loathes when blood spills in tragic lakes and rivers, rising up to the sky to fall with the storm. Deep, searching cold claws high above the wall to carve into his bones, dashed only by Zindra’s open hands.”

Of all places, Sokka had not expected so much love in a Fire Nation text. He had seen love here, of course—in Iroh and Lu Ten, in the everyday people he passed in the marketplace, in the adoration of a child bringing a prince his afternoon tea. But the epic surprised him because it sang of this deep bond between two men as though they were lovers, in a place where the very same had been illegal for so long.

Sokka thought on it a while before dozing off again in the hammock, waking when the shade shifted and the sun reached his eyes.

He dressed for the gala slowly and indulgently, allowing himself to admire the new garments tailored for him with this occasion in mind. He would wear the same suit tomorrow—deep navy pants tied and a matching tunic with shimmery blue trim—but with an alternate layer atop it. Tonight his second layer was another tunic-like thing, but it had only one sleeve and fastened along his side with beaded toggles. There was fur along the hems, blending into a geometric design with white beads; the shirt ended at his hips, draped around his legs in folds a little like a skirt that was higher in the front and longer in the back. It was bold and different, but reminded him something that he’d found among Gran Gran’s keepsakes once; she told him it had belonged to his grandfather. He added a leather cuff on his bare bicep, just for a little Sokka flare.

Sokka met the other East Villa guests in the sitting room, looking over their finery in awe—Katara’s outer layer was interchangeable like his, but hers was folded at her chest and tied at the waist with a braided sash, but the beaded designs matched. Toph wore a high waisted gown, Yue in shimmering white and sky blue beside Gi’s dark suit, and Aang in a version of his usual monk ensemble.

Everyone at the gala looked just as dazzling, to Sokka’s amazement. Both grand halls on either side of the gardens were open and decorated, now adorned with silk streamers in Earth Kingdom green and round lanterns with gold tassels. There were snacks and fountains of sparkling drinks, beautiful people everywhere, and Zuko was, initially, nowhere to be seen.

Sokka loved it.

Mostly.

He found that only the first two hours would be open mingling and dancing, and then the respective ballrooms would be segregated by gender. Sokka gasped at the audacity of it—107 AG and they were still separating men and women pointlessly? And what about the folks who fit in neither category?

Toph was amused by his shock and Katara teased him for his teenage blunders about men being so much better and cooler. (In his defense, he was just happy he got to be a guy after fessing up at about five years old that he was surely not meant to be a girl like everyone initially thought.)

Apparently, this was old hat in the Earth Kingdom, as the bride and groom were not meant to see each other after a certain hour the night before the wedding, or it would not bode well for the marriage. So, to prevent illness and injury and messy divorce—rare here in the Fire Nation but more frequent in the Earth Kingdom, especially the cities—bridal galas always drew a gender line a few hours in, with some sort of neutral zone for dances.

Sokka was tempted to stay in the gardens all night in protest, but the snacks were going to be in the ballroom and he wanted to stuff his face.

Before he knew it, the girls were breaking off and heading to the other side, leaving him with Aang and Gi, who quickly disappeared to talk politics with some other influential person on this side of the palace. He and Aang pilfered a tray of vegetable skewers and sat at the edge of the hall, watching important men have important conversations.

Lu Ten had a cup that Iroh kept filling, until he was flushed and unsteady on his feet. Sokka caught glimpses of Zuko weaving between the guests, nodding kindly but rarely stopping to talk. As the sun turned the sky outside to pink and orange, Sokka saw the younger prince slip into the garden and he handed Aang the empty tray he’d been balancing on his lap.

“Remember your promise to your father,” Aang said in a measured tone, a bold move from someone with green stuck in his teeth. Sokka motioned for him to prod it out with his tongue, sticking around until Aang got it before he withdrew into the glow of the evening.

At first, he didn’t see Zuko as he looked around the gardens, but upon further inspection he spotted the prince on the same bench as the previous night. He was speaking with another figure in red, distinctly feminine even beneath the many layers of formal robes. Her hair was shorter and she wore it in loose curls, so Sokka almost assumed she was a guest from Republic City, but the circlet on her head glinted in the light and betrayed her identity. Sokka hadn’t realized that Azula had arrived, but he supposed he missed a lot today.

Sokka approached warily, but Zuko remained focused and intent as he spoke softly to her, looking up at her as she stood over him with her trademarked self-assuredness. She caught sight of Sokka first, her sharp gaze landing painfully—he’d forgotten how withering Azula’s stare could be. He almost spun on his heel and returned to the ballroom, but she laughed at his expression and Zuko followed her gaze.

“Someone else has come to ruin your night,” said Azula, although their conversation had not seemed inherently unpleasant before Sokka interrupted. “I’m going to find Mai.”

She stalked off gracefully, like a prowling tigerdillo, leaving the boys alone save for a couple dancing on the stone path that wove through the garden.

Zuko folded his hands in his lap and looked to Sokka expectantly.

“Uh,” said Sokka. “What’s hanging, jerkbender?”

“Have you read any further?” asked Zuko. “The end of the fourth song is a weight off the shoulders.”

“I—um. I’ve read the whole thing before.”

At this, Zuko had the gall to look surprised.

“What? It’s an _epic_ ,” said Sokka, bringing his hands together and gesturing sharply with them to emphasize his point. “I shouldn’t have to say it’s fucking epic.”

“I just didn’t think—” Zuko cut himself off, pursing his lips in a way that made him look very like his sister. “Never mind.”

“Yes, Prince Dragon Butt. I _read_ ,” said Sokka. “I write too. I’m a creative at heart.”

“I seem to remember a very _amateur_ sketch of the sky bison,” said Zuko. “You know the one—it’s not clear which end is his head.”

“I was fifteen,” said Sokka. “You have to fail before you succeed.”

“Is that so?” asked Zuko smugly, like he’d never failed at anything in his life. Sokka knew that was an exaggeration, knew that Zuko had faced a few trials that had literally and figuratively burned him, but still. He was so talented, and for what? What did he even do, cloistered here in the lap of luxury?

Sokka had little else to say but an inelegant, “Fuck off,” before he returned to the ballroom to spin Aang around a few times before sneaking off with Suki at the end of her shift. They sparred again and then stargazed from the open window in the Kyoshi Warriors’ quarters, whispering about the past and the future.

It was very late when Sokka snuck out of the palace and back to the Villa, but he thought he saw the glow of the electric lights in someone’s bedchamber above. He wondered who was still awake at this hour, but he supposed he couldn’t talk—he was awake, too.

****

For the wedding, Sokka dressed again in the monochrome ensemble, but this time wore a sleeveless tunic of a rich blue brocade that fell to his knees, tied at the waist with braided leather and white silk; over this he wore what was essentially a cape, draped over his shoulders and fastened with loops and little braided knots at the collar. He embellished gain with his cuff, delighting in how it accentuated the muscle there.

Sokka was more than a little vain, but he didn’t mind it. He was a handsome guy, and there was no shame in noticing it. It was doubly satisfying to look and feel like he belonged here—in this place and in this body, which had not felt alien to him in a long time. He carried his war wound always, with a stiffness in his knee and the occasional dull ache in his bones when the rain came, but he had left behind his binding garments and most of his fear of being mistaken for a woman.

He’d grown into himself, lucky to be tall and inherit the sharper shape of his father’s face, and self-molded through his training regimen, protein consumption, and the surgery that only added a couple more scars to his collection.

Katara hovered in his doorway, her hair braided and twisted around her head like a crown; her dress was like his vest, with a thicker sash to accentuate her waist, accompanied by a small fur-lined cowl in a similar style to his dashing cape.

“Do you feel like a prince?” she asked.

“Only the coolest of princes,” said Sokka. “Never like Zuko.”

Katara snorted, her laugh surprising her as she rushed to hide it behind her hand. She seemed to will it away, not without difficulty, before she spoke again.

“Of course not,” she said. “Never.”

The actual marriage rites were performed in a more intimate setting that afternoon; Lu Ten and Ayoh were already husband and wife. Within the hour they would stand before their people for the first time at the Royal Plaza, and then return to the palace for the banquet to celebrate with their guests.

This meant they could take their time, arriving to the festivities whenever they wanted, more or less. Sokka would bet that Toph would throw on her outfit at the last moment, Aang had been ready for hours, and Yue was still doing her hair. She always did something elaborate with it for very special occasions.

“Do you think Zuko would notice if I stole his book?” asked Sokka, plucking King of the Skies from its place atop his rumpled bedclothes. “It’s all the way out here, I don’t know when he’d see that it’s missing.”

“Sokka, I shouldn’t have to tell you not to steal from the Fire Nation’s royal estate.”

“Okay, but, consider this: I like it more than he does,” said Sokka, thumbing his way through the delicate pages fondly. “Come on, no one would know!”

Katara just gave him a look. He sighed and tossed it back on the bed. If it found its way into his luggage before their departure tomorrow, she wouldn’t have to know.

The celebration was in full swing by the time Sokka arrived, having grown impatient with the rest of the guests in the house and dragged Katara and Aang across the lawn and through the halls of the palace. He had half a mind to break into a sprint through those high-ceilinged marble halls, following the music and voices, but propriety held him back.

Propriety was only so strong against Sokka’s wild impulses.

In the laughter and lights, Sokka danced with any girl who smiled at him. He stole Yue away from Gi to spin her around the polished dancefloor, snatched Suki from her post, and even took Katara’s hand for a fast-paced song—at the very least so he didn’t look a fool alone as they flubbed the footwork.

The guests were seated at low, round tables for the first four courses of the feast, with the newlyweds and their immediate family seated on a platform. When they sat down to dine was the first time Sokka saw Zuko since he’d arrived at the party, looking dreadfully bored at the head table between his uncle and his sister. He poked at his meal like an ungrateful twit, turned away the raw fish course outright, and got sauce on the corner of his mouth at the end of the seared meat course.

There was a break for digestion and for sipping rice wine or citrus water, and then they returned the tables for something with eggs and vegetables, followed by a soup with seaweed and mushroom.

Sokka felt incredibly well fed and yet he still had room for desert when they took another recess from the meal, for mingling and slow dancing. It was the perfect moment to bother Zuko, but when he scanned the crowd for the prince, he saw the most appalling thing in the world instead.

Okay, maybe not the most appalling; Sokka had seen the horrors of the war many times over, after all. But this was infuriating.

Prince Zuko bowed to the daughter of the Southern Water Tribe’s Chief, his hands poised together in that traditional Fire Nation way before he held out his hand to Katara and blatantly asked her for a dance. A dance! Right there in front of Aang, who…did not seem fazed because he was just so easygoing like that; he gestured widely for them to go right ahead. Right there in front of _Sokka_ , like it wasn’t an insult to his favorite couple and an obvious excuse for Zuko to get his hands all over Sokka’s sister.

If only Sokka had the mettle to approach Azula, but she was scary and Zuko never seemed to care what she did unless it might cause bodily harm or diplomatic disaster.

Sokka stewed on the sidelines as he watched Zuko lead Katara in an elegant dance, watched him catch that one of her hair loopies was coming loose; watched Zuko draw her away from the dance floor early and personally secure the beads in her hair and pin the braided strand back in place. The dance ended just in time, and she walked away to find Aang again.

This could not stand.

Sokka clutched his cup in one hand and flicked his long cape with the other, striding over to where Katara left Zuko with as much majesty he could muster.

“What was that, you royal dickhead?” Sokka demanded as he arrived at Zuko’s left side, startling him with the sudden movement and sound in his blind spot. He almost felt bad, having forgotten Zuko couldn’t see very well on that side, but the way Zuko recovered and turned a smug look on Sokka brough the guilt to a grinding halt.

“What? My diplomatic obligations?” asked Zuko. “What’s a prince to do but dance with eligible ladies of influence?”

“That’s my sister!” Sokka squawked. “And she’s not eligible.”

“She’s not married.”

Sokka tried so hard to remember his promise. He really did. But Zuko didn’t just insult his sister, but also made an unnecessary dig at Aang. He had thought, at the very least, Zuko valued his friendships with the others, but apparently pissing Sokka off was so much more important to him.

“You…you disgusting, scheming elephant rat,” Sokka hissed. “You make being civil with you impossible!”

“Impossible,” echoed Zuko, sounding tremendously uninterested. “Sokka, I don’t know if this has occurred to you, but Katara is my friend.”

“You just think you’re so clever and so important and…ugh, fuck you,” said Sokka. “Friends with everyone except for Sokka. Everyone thinks you’re so lovely, except for Sokka. Maybe I’m just too smart to be as obsessed with you as everyone else.”

Zuko laughed, just a quick little laugh that was almost bright and warm, but it cut off too soon.

“You say that now, but it’s always you who comes to pester me and make these extravagant claims. Sometimes I wonder if you may be obsessed with me after all,” said Zuko, casting his eyes towards Sokka. Trying to disarm him with that striking golden gaze.

“That’s not true! I—I do not!”

“Oh, surely,” said Zuko evenly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go dance with another beautiful woman. The captain of the Kyoshi Warriors is looking stunning tonight, don’t you think?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What?” Sokka sputtered, but Zuko was already gliding away—no, he was not escaping that easily. “Hang on.”

Sokka caught the back of Zuko’s sleeve, not expecting him to shake off his hand so easily and turn around, sparks flickering in his palm and reflecting in his eyes. Sokka staggered back, stalked by the absolutely livid prince, right into—oh.

The wedding cake really was stunning, covered in delicate sugar work shaped into red and orange flowers and spindly branches and painted with an intricate pattern like lace, all leading up to a fragile-looking model of the Fire Nation insignia. Sokka hoped it was also sugar and not valuable blown glass, because it was in so much danger of toppling.

When Sokka backed into the table it seemed at first that it would be fine. The cake wobbled on its stand, left and right and left again, and then steadied once again. When he turned around again, feeling the relief of a crisis averted, he saw the alarm in Zuko’s eyes as he looked between Sokka and the cake.

“It’s cool man. It’s fine,” said Sokka.

A young child, one of the smallest wedding guests, chose that moment to run by their legs and startle Zuko right into Sokka’s personal bubble. Sokka stumbled, his feet knocking together and then back into the table; he sort of caught Zuko in his arms, but the shoulder piece on his traditional formal armor struck Sokka in the chest. He cried out, more in shock than in pain, though it wasn’t comfortable either—and further jostled the table.

The cake tipped slowly, but too fast for anyone to jump in to save it. It fell bodily against the table, all three upper tiers smashed together against the red silk cloth. Sokka and Zuko fell, too, tumbling to the ground on top of one another—perhaps the one saving grace of the incident was that Sokka caught the cake topper before it shattered on the floor.

When the frosting settled, Zuko sat up and flicked a piece of cake out of his hair. Sokka held the glass ornament delicately in both hands, handing it off to the first servant that rushed to their aid before he even thought about trying to get up. He got himself to his feet easily enough, offering a hand to the prince—who swatted him away.

Zuko rose to his full height, leveling Sokka with his most poisonous glare. It was something else, something more furious and wilder than Sokka had ever seen from him. Even with frosting and shattered sugar in his hair, Zuko looked like he could kill Sokka right there in front of everyone and start another war in an instant.

He didn’t. Of course not.

Instead, Zuko closed his eyes, breathed in through his nose and out through his lips, and then stormed out of the ballroom without another word.

“Oh, Sokka,” said Katara at his shoulder. “What have you done?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko would like to speak to your manager.

* * *

Sokka hated the printing press. Sure, it was fantastic for spreading information and morale at the end of the Hundred Years’ War, developing mass-produced pamphlets and papers that advertised global unity right beside some restaurant’s new spicy noodle recipe. 

It also meant that anyone who got the papers knew what an absolute fool Sokka was. Within hours of the cake’s tumble, the journalists at the wedding had penned headlines, articles, and even sketches regarding the incident and had passed it on to enough friends and colleagues that it seemed like everyone had something to say. Other than the most serious of sources, presses everywhere released their accounts of the event—sometimes just a blip in a longer article about the wedding, which was much appreciated, but other times practically front-page news.

The worst, and the ones Sokka was most in trouble for, were the upstarts that speculated the incident was evidence of a rivalry between two influential men that could sow the seeds of another war. It spelled political disaster, despite the fact that it wasn’t true—yes, Sokka had a problem with Prince Zuko, but it wasn’t a problem that would turn the world upside down. It was personal.

“It was an accident,” Sokka insisted once more as his father paced the length of the dining room while Bato flipped through a pamphlet that was more concerned with the unceremonious destruction of such a beautiful cake.

Upon their homecoming last night, only Bato had been up to greet them. Apparently, Hakoda had developed a stress headache and had retired early. The presses were fast, but messenger hawks were just as speedy with more determination in every feather.

“I specifically asked you to avoid trouble with Prince Zuko,” said Hakoda, now. “I thought it was clear that I meant _no crashing into valuable wedding cakes with Prince Zuko_.”

“Dad,” said Sokka. “It wasn’t even because we were arguing that the cake fell. It would’ve happened if we were just standing there talking.”

“But you _were_ arguing. You couldn’t just leave the prince alone—”

“He started it,” said Sokka.

“Sokka, he never starts it,” said Katara as she walked into the room, wrapped in a blanket, her hair messily tied up and coming undone since she’d slept on it. She yawned, punctuating it with another unhelpful addition, “It’s always you.”

“You know what, Katara—” Sokka began.

“Okay, that’s enough,” said Hakoda, taking his seat at Bato’s side with a scrape and clatter. “Breakfast, and then we’ll talk more about cleaning up your mess.”

“It’s too bad, the cake looks like it would’ve been delicious,” said Bato, casting aside his reading material. Katara nodded in agreement, tacking on a wide smile when Sokka shot a glare her way.

Sokka leaned forward to press his face against the table, sliding aside his dish of berries and groaning.

“Bato, enough,” said Hakoda, but it was fond as it was sharp. “We will talk about it. After. Breakfast.”

Sokka did not lift his head until the family had all finished eating and the dishes were cleared. He stayed down another moment after the fact, until Katara poked his shoulder in a series of harsh jabs and he sat up just to lunge at her hand like he would bite it if she touched him again.

“So,” said Hakoda, reaching into his robe for a piece of parchment. It was a scroll bearing a broken Fire Nation seal. Sokka dropped the act and turned to his father, feeling his eyes practically bulging out of his face. “Since the wedding, I’ve been in contact with Fire Lord Iroh.”

“Am I in…actual trouble?” asked Sokka.

“Not with the Fire Lord, no,” said Hakoda, unrolling his parchment but looking threateningly over the top edge. Then he cast his eyes down to his correspondence, glancing over whatever was written there as though to taunt Sokka with it.

“Dad,” Sokka pleaded. “Come on, am I a dead man or what?”

“They outlawed _Agni Kai_ , so you should be safe,” said Bato. For this, he earned a prod from Katara—mostly because she strongly disapproved of joking about Fire Nation brutality and not because she was vouching for Sokka or anything. Just so he made no mistake, Katara tugged sharply on a lock of Sokka’s hair on her way out of the dining room.

“Returning to matter at hand,” said Hakoda, clearing his throat to redirect Sokka’s attention again. “Iroh was lamenting that you and his nephew did not become good friends after helping end the war together, and I know the feeling. Which gave me—”

“Us,” said Bato, leaning on his hand cheekily. “I helped.”

“Gave _us_ an idea,” Dad continued. “You and Zuko have known each other so long, after all, it really does seem like you should be friends. So, effective now, you _are._ The very best of friends.”

“Sorry, what?” asked Sokka. “Aang is my best friend.”

“Oh, that’s your only objection?” asked Hakoda.

“No,” said Sokka. “I just—how do you expect me to be friends with him? He’s so…he’s so…. _Zuko_.”

“He is, that,” said Bato.

“How does that save anyone’s ass?” asked Sokka. “I thought everyone already assumed we were friends, because all our friends are friends.”

“Well, yes,” said Hakoda. “But your display the other night seemed like an argument. Instead of worrying everyone with a rivalry, you’ll do an interview together in Republic City, where you play it off as friendly banter. Brotherly roughhousing. What happened to the cake was an unfortunate accident.”

“An interview together?” asked Sokka. “We can’t.”

“You can,” said Hakoda firmly. “And you will. You have the freedom to feel about Zuko however you wish, but for the sake of diplomacy—and the upcoming election for the seat of Chief—you can pretend Prince Zuko is an old friend.”

“Wait,” said Sokka. “I thought the election was a formality. No one is running against you, right?”

Hakoda and Bato shared a look. A long, ominous look.

“The council approved two candidates after the trade meetings this week,” said Dad. “We thought, after we eradicated the anti-North extremists, that disapproval of me was low amongst the people. We didn’t account for the growth of the city, or the polarization that our latest policy talks have caused.”

Sokka was privy to some of this, but he hadn’t realized it would threaten his father’s seat. Usually the people and the council were really good at talking things out and coming to an understanding or compromise. But lately, opposition to the urbanization of the South Pole warred against those who embraced the growth; others fought more about whether the Southern Water Tribe was even suited to sovereignty.

Sokka himself was trapped between old and new, so the first issue made sense to him. Of course the people would be concerned and divided over change. The latter debate, however, and the growing fascination with the North, was unnerving. Some years ago they’d dealt with extremists who were vehemently anti-North, and now they had folks thinking the water was clearer on the other side.

“Yuka’s an old friend of your mother’s, and her platform is not so different from mine—she seeks to strike balance between tradition and progress,” said Hakoda. “I believe we can come to an understanding. I already invited her to a round of council meetings discussing some of the same grievances she has. If not, I respect the process.”

“And the other is Taqtu,” said Sokka. Bato nodded. “Thought so.”

Taqtu had brought his thoughts to the Elders before, many times, since his sub-tribe relocated to the capital for a new start. He married a woman who moved from the North with her family at the beginning of reconstruction, and in the process somehow became deeply invested in combining the tribes on a government level.

Taqtu frequently supported Northern aid and intervention, to the point that he advocated not only for the South to accept Northern guidance and supplies, but also Northern rule. Sokka thought the North was beautiful, but even if they elected Yue (she was not explicitly banned from running, but it was not exactly typical) they were so prim and so very like a monarchy. Northern Chiefs raised their sons to run for the office, so the seat was passed between a few different high-strata families. Their marriages were always man-to-woman and often arranged by parents, and the way Sokka lived was unheard of before he went there. If Sokka were born in the North, he would be…well, he couldn’t even grasp who he would be, only that he’d be expected to grow up a woman.

There was nothing wrong with working together, but the popular ideologies in the North were still so patriarchal and rigid. Sokka shuddered to think of what could happen if that thinking washed through his homeland.

“Do you understand, Sokka?” asked his father. “If the people are afraid due to the nature of your relationship with Prince Zuko, and by extension, the Fire Nation…”

“They may vote against you,” Sokka finished. “Yes, I understand.”

“I’m sorry, Sokka,” said Hakoda. “But it will not kill you to pretend to be his friend.”

So, Sokka would pretend. It shouldn’t be too hard, he thought—but he’d also thought avoiding trouble with Zuko would be easy. A very pretty cake had paid the price for that one.

“Oh,” said Hakoda as Sokka rose to his feet, wondering if he’d eat his weight in jerky or beat the shit out of one of his practice dummies first. “And you will also issue an apology to Prince Lu Ten and Princess Ayoh for disrupting their wedding reception.”

“Will do,” said Sokka.

****

The next day, a long scroll with Zuko's personal seal had been delivered by messenger hawk. He’d written a list of his interests and favorites and requested the same from Sokka. It seemed that he had begrudgingly agreed to this sham as well.

Sokka conveniently forgot to write back. 

In the meantime, he studied up on his cheat sheet and thought about how much easier it would be if they could speak across oceans, at the very least so Sokka could use some choice words and Zuko would hear them.

When he told Katara about the charade, she had laughed for a solid five minutes before telling him it was hopeless. “You’re such a bad liar,” she'd said. And then she went on to belittle him further by talking about how nice Zuko had been to fix her hair, so she wouldn’t have leave the reception to go find a mirror. How upstanding and elegant he was growing up to be.

“Yuck,” was all Sokka had to say about that.

In a week and a half, which went by far too quickly for Sokka’s liking, he rose very, very early in the morning and hiked to the top of a cliff with his father and a few guards. A large landing target was painted along the smoothest part of the ice, marking it as their makeshift airship dock. Not that the airship would really land, anyway—he would probably just have to climb the ladder.

He could hear its rumble in the distance and regretted his contribution to developing airship technology.

“Do you want me to quiz you?” asked Hakoda, glancing at the rolled parchment in Sokka’s gloved hand. Sokka shoved it into the inside pocket of his Parka and made a face at his father. The Chief chuckled and moved on. “Cold one this morning, isn’t it?”

Sokka huffed and rolled his eyes. The guards small-talked back about how the slightly-milder spring and summer were taking their sweet time coming to the South Pole.

Soon the enormous ship hovered in the air above them, and sure enough, they merely unrolled the rope ladder for Sokka to climb. He would bet a hundred gold pieces that the beloved Fire Nation prince would not have to make his own way up to his airship. At least Sokka’s bag was more of a large knapsack, so he could strap it to his back and leave both hands free for climbing.

He hugged his father goodbye, even though he was still bitter about the whole thing, and scaled the ladder quickly. A hand came through the hatch for him to take hold of, surprisingly smooth and ungloved—he had expected them to send the Kyoshi Warriors to haul him to Republic City. Sokka took it and let the hand help him up into the ship, clambering through the hatch and kicking it shut behind him.

The hand had not belonged to a Kyoshi Warrior at all.

“Oh,” said Sokka. “It’s you.”

“Good morning, best friend,” said Prince Zuko. He was mostly in his regalia, except the sleeves were pushed up and the wrist guards abandoned somewhere. “Welcome aboard.”

Sokka looked around, seeing that a pair of Kyoshi girls were present, standing near the hatch and leaning against some crates. Neither of them was Suki, but when he looked harder, he thought he recognized Ty Lee behind the makeup and headdress. Two men in Fire Nation armor stood on the other side of the hold, watching Sokka carefully.

“So, you’re too cheap for separate transport, are you?” asked Sokka as Zuko gestured for him to step away from the hatch and cockpit. The guards took a cue from the prince, heading through the door at the end of the hold before him; Zuko followed and looked at Sokka like he was supposed to be at his heels. “Where are we going?”

“You think I spend my whole flight in here? Pfft,” said Zuko, edging through the door that a guard held open. Sokka sighed and followed, the Kyoshi warriors taking up the rear. It was just like Zuko to do something helpful and promptly ruin it by being a huge snob.

“Hi, Sokka,” whispered the one as she sidled up behind him. It was Ty Lee, after all.

“Hi,” he said.

Zuko glanced over his shoulder at Sokka, his brow furrowing just a little and wrinkling up his forehead. Before Sokka could ask what he was looking at, Zuko quickly turned around and continued on behind his guards until they reached what appeared at first to be an archway; as Sokka got closer he saw that it led to a sunken passenger area lined with plush seating. The other side was open to a hallway as well, and Sokka guessed that the corridor wrapped around.

Zuko hopped down into the compartment and unfolded himself on the far side, near a deep mug of something steaming and the discarded pieces of his armor. He looked smug and comfortable, peering steadily at Sokka as he hovered in the doorway.

“He doesn’t bite,” said Ty Lee from the opposite doorway, startling Sokka with how she just appeared there. He stumbled a little, almost tripping into the seating area. He steadied himself, standing in the center of the round room, only to yelp again when he saw that there was no floor.

Or rather, the floor was glass, looking out onto the world below. Sokka could see the tiny shapes of his father’s entourage against the glacier they’d left behind, getting farther away and more miniscule by the second.

Zuko laughed. Sokka wanted to kick his shins, but between his fancy leg guards and Sokka’s boots being mostly hide and fur, it wouldn’t really be an effective blow. Plus, he was trying to stay civil. Sokka exhaled in a way that definitely made his nostrils flare before unloading his bag on the panes of the floor with a thump. He sat on the edge of the curved sofa opposite Zuko, leaning his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands as he stared down the prince.

“Are you seriously having fun with this?” asked Sokka.

Zuko picked up his mug and sipped, his eyes catching Sokka’s over the rim. He took his time, setting it aside with a satisfied smack of his lips.

“Not exactly,” said Zuko, wiping his hands on the velvety cushion under him. Sokka ditched his gloves, feeling the sweat growing between his fingers, and probed his seat—yes, it _was_ as soft as it looked. “But I thought I might make the most of it.”

“Well,” Sokka blustered. “You clearly just find fun in pissing me off.”

Zuko smirked. “Maybe.”

“What are you even doing here?” Sokka asked, feeling his body begin to grow hot under his layers. He huffed as he twisted his way out of the parka and tossed it aside—it slid to the floor in a pile of fluff. “Why not just send a separate airship instead of going hours out of your way to…to what? Rub this all in my face?”

“Why wouldn’t I go out of my way to spend more time with my friend?” Zuko returned.

Sokka groaned and flopped back against the seat. It was far too early for this—too early in the day to be awake dealing with the bane of his existence, and too early in the trip to already feel like exploding and taking Zuko with him. Though, under these circumstances, he’d take the whole ship down with him. Sokka couldn’t imagine how destructive _that_ would be to the political climate, were it physically possible. 

With the speed at which Fire Nation airships could travel, the trip would be at least seven hours if they didn't hit incliment weather. So, Sokka figured he’d sleep instead of tearing his hair out over the prince. Sokka leaned to pick up his coat where it had fallen, at the same time he toed off his boots and lined them up beside his pack. Zuko looked on, his head just barely turning to follow Sokka’s movements. Then, under Zuko’s annoyingly watchful eye, Sokka balled up his parka, gave it a tenderizing punch, and face-planted into it.

This startled a laugh out of someone, but Sokka was burrowing into sleep before he really registered who. It was too fucking early.

****

“Sokka,” whispered a warm, raspy voice. “Wake up, Sokka.”

Sokka groaned and shifted. His pillow was under his shoulders, his face smooshed against the very edge of it. He was dimly aware that one hand was asleep and the other hung in the open air. Sokka was often found in wild positions in the morning, usually by a family member or one of the newly-hired attendants that roamed the residential wing of the Capitol. He yawned, getting a mouthful of fur that he spat out with a disgusted grunt, and flexed his shoulders against the bed to stretch them before he moved further. This was a cushier surface than the stuffed pelt that made up his mattress. Sokka wrinkled his nose—in thought and to ward off a sneeze—before finally cracking his eyes open.

He promptly fell out of bed—or couch, really—onto the windowed floor. He hit his head on the edge of the small table in the center of the room, groaning as he hauled himself into a sitting position.

“What the _fuck_ , Zuko?”

Sokka had opened his eyes to none other than the Fire Nation prince crouched before him, watching him stir from his nap. Poised there like an animal watching its prey. Worse, Sokka had landed right in Zuko’s personal space, so he was startlingly close to Zuko’s stunned face when he sat up. Zuko blinked once, twice, before clearing his throat and rising from his crouch, stepping back from Sokka and directing his attention to what must have been a very interesting spot on the ceiling.

“Um,” he said, inelegantly. “We’ve arrived.”

Sokka looked down at himself. He hadn’t stripped off his clothes as he slept or anything, so it made absolutely no sense for Zuko to avoid looking at him like he was indecent. Sokka stretched out the rest of his body before he slipped his feet back into his boots and shoved his parka-pillow in his bag, carefully so as not to bend the soft leather covers and delicate pages of the book he had liberated from the East Villa.

Sokka didn’t know why he’d brought it, when Zuko would be around him for all of today and tomorrow, but maybe he’d have a chance to read it by lamplight while Zuko slept.

“Okay,” said Sokka, shouldering his bag. “Let’s go, little hippo.”

“Excuse me?” asked Zuko, stopping in his tracks. He seemed more confused than offended, but there was so much tension and prissiness coiled up in him all the same.

“Oh, I’m not calling you a—well, I mean I kinda _did_ , but not like that,” said Sokka. “It’s just an expression. Or just something my mom made up. I’m not sure.”

Zuko stood stock-still, his head tilted as if he was assessing Sokka’s explanation. Finally, he hummed—in understanding, Sokka assumed—and stepped up out of the seating compartment. As before, guards took up the lead and followed behind the pair of them as they walked through the ship, past the hold where Sokka had climbed up and towards the official gangplank. It lowered slowly with the sound of turning gears and the slight creak of the broad hinges, revealing the long airship docks at the edge of the city.

It already looked so much bigger, sprawling across the bay and the valley and stretching upward toward the sky. Some buildings were older, now, but others sparkled brand new in the sunlight. It was hard to believe it was the same growing city Sokka had seen last year, much less that this used to be Cranefish Town. Remarkable what a name-change and a few brilliant minds could do for a place.

As they disembarked and traveled the length of the dock, Sokka heard the squeals and shouts of the fans that gathered at the gate, held back by barriers and a few armored officers. The United Republic of Nations was still building its forces, so order was upheld by transplants from the other nations while the council discussed the formation of some sort of law enforcement. One of Zuko’s guards jogged to meet the folks the city sent, speaking with them in hushed tones while Sokka, Zuko, and the rest of the posse hung back.

The transport to their lodging – an enclosed carriage pulled by a single robust ostrich horse— pulled up in moments, and the guard gestured for them to advance as the barriers were adjusted to part the crowd. It wasn’t really a sea of people, just smattering really, holding posters and handmade signs depicting symbols of unity and the republic, or the faces of Sokka, Zuko, and their friends. Quite a few young women along the edges wore their fan club robes bearing the air symbol, but they seemed happy to see Zuko and Sokka regardless of Avatar Aang’s absence.

Sokka loved the attention, honestly, waving and blowing kisses as they passed through; he looked over at Zuko to see how he preened and found that he actually looked disarmed by it all. He nudged the prince with his shoulder to draw his eye, and lifting a skeptical eyebrow when Zuko looked over at him; Zuko just smiled and jostled Sokka back.

Oh, right. The best-friends-ever act. Just two war heroes being bros. The fans seemed to eat it up, at least.

When Sokka stepped up into the carriage first, he gave a little flourish and bow for the crowd before ducking inside. Zuko just waved awkwardly at them—once he was most of the way in and most of the way out of sight, Sokka yanked him down to the seat beside him. Yes, it was within the sight of his guards, but Sokka didn’t particularly care.

Each bench was about three seats wide, so Ty Lee Squeezed on the end next to Zuko and the rest of their detail settled across from them before they closed the door and the carriage lurched into motion.

“What?” Zuko demanded, swatting Sokka’s hands away.

“Are you _shy_ all of a sudden?” Sokka asked. “What was that?”

Zuko’s cheeks went a little pink. “No! I’m just not used to it.”

“You’re a prince and a hero, what do you mean you’re not used to attention? Everyone is constantly paying attention to you,” said Sokka. “That’s how we got into this whole mess.”

“We’re actually here because _you_ couldn’t mind your own business at my cousin’s wedding,” said Zuko sharply. “We ruined a cake that was worth more than your entire wardrobe.”

“If you weren’t so heavily guarded, I would throw you out of this glorified cabbage cart,” grumbled Sokka, crossing his arms and elbowing Zuko a little in the process. It was close quarters in here. The guards obviously heard Sokka’s threat, but they must have seen how empty it was. He wasn’t about to get thrown in prison today.

Sokka peered out the window and wondered when they would get to the Grand Inn, so maybe he could get some time away from Zuko before their interview in the afternoon. In the meantime, he watched the city go by. It was still humble in some places, still in progress in most, but there were so many people on the streets hurrying to work or to the market, so many academics and inventors bent over their notes and blueprints—Sokka loved home, but he also loved what Republic City represented. It was the future they hoped for that they once thought might never come.

The Grand Inn was certainly grand in size, stretching the length of the block and towering over the carriage when they pulled up. At the corner, an unlight sign proclaimed its name vertically; a horizontal sign over the entrance to match. The only thing about it was that a good third of the building was unfinished, bricks laid, but behind them empty space and spindly scaffolding. Sokka spilled out of the carriage first to look up at it—there was certainly a lot of potential—but when Zuko stepped out behind him he gasped in shock.

“Are these the only accommodations in the city?” he asked the valet at the door, who tugged nervously at his collar. “Who thought to put a prince up in half a hotel?”

“What his highness means to say,” said Sokka, stepping in and steering Zuko away from the trembling hotel employee and towards the entrance, “is that he is concerned about the…safety of an unfinished building. It is a little rough around the edges, sure, but we’ll be fine.”

“Sokka, I—” Zuko began, but when they stepped through the doors into the bright and decadent lobby, full of marble and bronze, he paused and seemed to relax. Under Sokka’s hands, his shoulders released a good portion of the tension they were carrying.

“See?” said Sokka. “Looks can be deceiving.”

Zuko looked to Sokka, something odd in his expression. For a moment he just stared, before seemingly coming back to himself. His shoulders went rigid again and he shook Sokka off, turning to his guards and the hotel employees assembled before him. Someone would have to go ahead to their rooms and sweep them; someone would carry the bags—including Sokka’s, he insisted—and Zuko wanted to speak to management as soon as possible.

His orders were given in a measured tone, almost bored, but it still made Sokka itch to say something snarky. Sokka sighed and settled on one of the settees in the lobby, tilting is head back against its ornamental frame so he could see Zuko upside down. He stood as if at attention, his armor polished and his topknot secured with a simpler golden hairpiece than usual—this one was just a band of engraved gold. Ty Lee leaned against the back of Sokka’s settee, watching Zuko as her job description required, but not hovering.

“He’s giving me whiplash,” said Sokka.

“Hmm?” Ty Lee hummed. “Oh, Zuko. He does bounce about a bit, doesn’t he?”

That was one way to put it. He swung between being unbearably prudish and tightly-wound to an awkward, funny jumble of traits that Sokka almost found likeable. But Zuko’s antagonistic, plotting side always thrummed beneath the surface waiting to jab at Sokka’s weak places when he least expected. So Sokka never liked him, as a rule.

“Can you block the chi that makes him a great big, screeching viper bat?” asked Sokka. Ty Lee giggled sweetly and stood over him, poking Sokka’s cheeks until his lips were posed like a fish’s.

“Oh, you’re so funny, Sokka,” she said.

“What are you doing?” asked Zuko sharply from behind her. Ty Le stepped aside, but Sokka kept his mouth like that for a mortifying second before righting himself, sitting up properly on the chair and turning to face Zuko right-side-up. Zuko looked between them and added, “Our rooms are ready.”

They ascended the grand staircase on the east side of the lobby, towards the finished side of the hotel. At the top, as they headed towards the next flight, Sokka peered over the railing down into the lobby and wondered what it would sound like if he dropped a coin down to the pristine marble floor.

“No,” said Zuko.

“What?”

“No,” Zuko repeated, without deigning to look at Sokka. “Whatever experiment you’re thinking up, I forbid it.”

So tightly-wound he might as well be a jammed music box. Sokka made a face at Zuko’s back and hustled to catch up, rounding the corner to the next staircase, and then another. Sokka had read in the scientific papers that the elevator technology from the Northern Air Temple was being revised and implicated for the high-rise buildings of the city, but apparently the Grand Inn had not installed anything of the sort yet.

That, or Zuko just hated shortcuts as much as he hated fun.

They made it to their room, a grand suite on the north corner of the third floor. There were neat cots assembled for Zuko’s detail in the common space, stationed near the bedroom doors, but it did little to detract from the state of the room. The furnishings were new and fashionable, but retained the charm worthy of royalty; the loveseats were soft and tufted, a complement and contrast to the shine of metal on the armchairs.

Zuko strolled to the window, gazing out at the city with his hands at his back, clasped together in a way that seemed forced.

Sokka found himself wanting to join him, to see the view for himself, but instead he was directed into the first bedroom, nearest to the suite’s entrance. His bag had been placed on a dark wooden bench at the end of the enormous bed, the only thing marking the room as his for the next two nights.

He had thought he’d want the time alone when they arrived, but as soon as he closed his door to Zuko and his entourage, Sokka felt antsy. He looked out the window, but all he saw was the construction across the street and people passing by below; the fabled city lights were reserved for when the sun went down, and the best view in the room would be from the corner, out over the developing plaza. City hall was on track to open its doors by the end of the season, according to the papers.

Sokka shuffled around his room, looking in drawers and into the ensuite washroom and checking the underside of the vanity for cobwebs. When he found nothing of interest, he unpacked his bag and tossed the contents across the embroidered beigey bedspread, looking them over before he finally decided to crack open his journal.

Sokka used the vanity as a desk as he flipped open to his latest idea, what he believed was a meagre step in the evolution of timekeeping. Although he had always known how to tell the time of day by the location of the sun, there needed to be other ways—and while he appreciated the hourglass and the time candle and the mechanical clock, they required attention to stay accurate. Forget to wind your cuckoo clock, and it would not cuckoo at all.

With electricity, perhaps missing a meeting because you forgot to light a candle or wind some gears would become a thing of the past. Sokka had some thoughts on circuits he could pull into this, and perhaps portable sources of energy…

Sokka scribbled furiously, and crossed things out, and tore out pages for a while. He had already studied all the clockwork time and time again, and he thought he might be getting somewhere with the circuit, but how to power clocks while on the move was stumping him. He would have to go to his makeshift lab when he returned to the South Pole, just to fiddle around. 

A knock on the door threw him completely, and he lost whatever glimmer might have been brewing in his brain at that moment. He sighed and pushed himself up from the table, wiping the concentration sweat from his brow and throwing the bedroom door open. Ty Lee had been the one to knock, but Sokka’s attention zeroed in on Zuko, who stood before the door to the suite looking like he was suppressing the urge to sneer at Sokka.

“Huh?” asked Sokka.

“You look a mess. Why are you all smudgey?” Zuko complained. Sokka looked down at his hands, smeared with the graphite from his pencil. “We’re supposed to be at the newspaper headquarters soon, and you look like _that_.”

“Well excuse me,” said Sokka. “Some of us get bored sitting around doing nothing so as not to ruin our pretty little hairdos.”

“Fuck. You.”

Since they were kids, Zuko had used curses with less and less frequency; now he rarely came back at Sokka with crude insults, instead ignoring Sokka’s jibes, acting haughty and smug, and occasionally whipping out a carefully crafted comeback. This was a lot more like the angry and passionate Zuko that Sokka had met when he was fifteen; teenage Zuko had sparked Sokka’s grudge, but Sokka almost missed him sometimes.

It was just a glimpse, however. In a matter of moments, Zuko would be above it all again. Sokka sighed.

“Cool it, your highness,” said Sokka. “I’m not so uncivilized that I don’t know where to find the soap and water.”

Sokka closed the door and waltzed into his bathroom, washing his hands and face and fixing his wolftail quickly before rejoining the group. Zuko didn’t have anything to say when Sokka returned looking presentable, so Sokka took it as a win.

They left the hotel in a closed carriage again, this time with only one Fire Nation guard and Ty Lee. It was nicer to ride through the city with room to breathe, and not have Zuko’s armor poking Sokka in the side and the scent of his cologne all up in his face.

Sokka watched out the window, reminded of the long stretch of time Team Avatar had spent in Ba Sing Se—their old stomping grounds there had been bustling and industrious in its own right, though the walls were old and the customs ran deep. Something he had liked about Ba Sing Se was the proximity of things, the way they overlapped; it was here, in Republic City, too. The place lacked polish, but Sokka found it pleasing to his inner poet and his sense of adventure. He itched to walk the streets himself, rooting out the gems of Republic City, finding the best shops and the best food. He did the very same everywhere he went, but usually it was with better company.

He spared a glance over at Zuko, who seemed to be caught up in his own thoughts as he gazed out the window. Although he sat straight and poised, his jaw was relaxed and his hands idle, winding a piece of ribbon around his fingers. His nose twitched, like a hare’s, before he lifted one hand to dispel the itch.

They arrived at a building not-as-tall, but still relatively towering, made of a cream-colored stone. The carriage’s stop was not sudden, but still they felt it wobble before it stilled entirely. This seemed to pull Zuko from whatever he was thinking of, and as if he could feel Sokka’s gaze, he turned his head.

“Is there something on my face?” he asked.

“No,” said Sokka. “Other than your stupid mouth, that is.”

Zuko exhaled in a sharp little puff of air, like a laugh. “I would hope so. I need my stupid mouth.”

Disarmed, Sokka just sat there staring back, even as the guards exited the carriage and Zuko rose to follow them. He stepped down, nimble, and turned around to see that Sokka hadn’t budged.

“Are you coming?” asked Zuko, leaning on the door suavely. 

“Fuck,” said Sokka, shaking his head to rid himself of whatever had come over him. “Yeah, duh. Get out of the way.”

Zuko had the gall to laugh at him again.


	4. Chapter 4

The office of the _Republic City Current_ was a fascinating environment to step into, full of clacking typewriter keys and telegraphs, low conversations over messy desks, and the smell of fresh ink. They walked down an aisle between the desks, led by a young intern with huge spectacles that made her eyes look owlish. Zuko didn’t seem nearly is caught up the hubbub as Sokka felt, never breaking his stride as he followed the girl and his guard; Sokka’s eyes were drawn everywhere.

“We apologize for the mess,” said the head of the paper, a spindly older man who boasted a fantastic moustache. He stood at the doorway of his office, bowing first to Zuko and extending his hands to Sokka, palm down. Sokka just stared in disbelief for a moment—he had never met anyone in his travels who knew this old Southern Water Tribe greeting, rarely used for anything but formal introductions nowadays. He shook himself out of it and returned the gesture by taking the man’s hands wrists from below and holding firmly for a few seconds. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Prince Zuko and Sokka, son of Hakoda.”

“And the same to you,” said Sokka, stepping back. “Mr. Rao, is it?”

Rao nodded jovially. “I must thank you for coming, dear friends, but I cannot stay for your interview—I have a meeting with our ink supplier that’s quite pressing. I leave you with one of our best, Mr. Rao, who has written some of our proudest articles.”

“Another Mr. Rao, sir?” asked Zuko. Rao grinned from ear to ear.

“I do not only speak highly of him because he is my son,” said the elder Mr. Rao. “His work really does stand out and I trust him completely with this piece.”

“Father,” came a voice from behind Sokka. “You know how I feel about excessive praise. It’s embarrassing.”

Sokka and Zuko turned to see that a door on the adjacent wall had opened to a larger office—past the younger Mr. Rao, Sokka could see that there were four desks within and a few comfortable looking chairs. Rao the second was not so important that he did not have to share his office, then. And he didn’t hold himself like he was, either, with his hands in his pockets and his cheeks colored pink at his father’s compliments.

“Kozuma Rao,” he said, withdrawing his hands from the pockets of his loose trousers. He was dressed in a gray vest with little knotted closures all the way up, with a crisp white shirt underneath. Where his father was tall and reedy, Kazuma was solid, with a handsome roundness to his face and shoulders. “Features, primarily, though I’ve dabbled in every section. I have no need for the formality of Mr. Rao—you may call me Kozuma.”

The young reporter approached them carefully, mindful of the guards, and followed his father’s example by greeting each of the men in a traditional fashion. Kozuma seemed to be around Sokka’s age, but he held his hands palm up to show deference as though Sokka was his elder. It was jarring, but in a warm, pleasant way.

They went with Kozuma into his office, settling into the charming armchairs around a small, flickering fireplace. The room still carried an early spring chill, however, and Zuko took it upon himself to bend before the hearth and add a little plume of fire from his palm before taking his seat.

“Thank you,” said Kozuma, his blush deepening. Zuko just nodded and took the cup of water from the tray that the intern had retrieved when she left them with the elder Mr. Rao. Sokka took his drink and sipped slowly, watching as the reporter picked up his leather-bound notebook and shiny fountain pen, accompanied by an inkwell on the side table. “So, gentlemen, shall we begin?”

Kozuma first asked them for any thoughts they wanted to lead with, and Sokka jumped in with his nonsense about the city. He explained that he had been there with his friends once when it was Cranefish Town, helping Aang broker peace and stamp down an insurrection. Sokka shared his earlier thought about how Republic City was the future, and Kozuma eagerly scribbled it down in his little book.

“The last time I was here was about a year ago, to celebrate a friend’s birthday,” said Zuko. “The view from her apartments is of the new borough going up in the west, towards the valley—Sokka said it looked almost like a natural growth pattern, spreading like moss or lichen. I thought that was a beautiful way to put it, too.”

Sokka choked on his water.

“You remember that?” he was asking, still coughing around the wrongness in his windpipe. Before he could really register that it maybe wasn’t the place or time to interrogate Zuko about how much he remembered from the night of Toph’s birthday party.

“Yes,” Zuko said. “I wasn’t—it wasn’t so long ago.”

Sokka heard the unsaid, _“I wasn’t that drunk,”_ and he wanted to smash his own head with the printing press and escape this absolute mortification.

The interview moved along to address their purpose for coming to the city. Sokka knew that their goal was the interview and the good press that should follow, but they had been given an itinerary. He’d scanned it, had taken the gaps written in for rest and leisure as the time he’d be free of Zuko, and tossed it aside. Normally Sokka liked knowing what was planned and knowing what to expect, thus making room for comfortable amounts of spontaneity and adventure. But he hadn’t really wanted to dwell on how much of Zuko he’d be seeing on this trip.

Zuko was telling Kozuma about visiting his sister—as though it was a bonus—and having dinner with her tonight. Sokka dimly remembered that. 

“Princess Azula mentioned in her letter that there’s a vegetarian restaurant near her flat,” Zuko was saying, his hands wrapped around his water cup so that Sokka could barely see the color of the glaze peeking through. It wasn’t even a small cup. Zuko had taken up the helm since Sokka’s problem with the water and the memory of Toph’s party, speaking with Kozuma with odd formality, as though he’d rehearsed it. “I knew Sokka would abhor it, so I arranged for him to visit an old friend of ours in his laboratory uptown. Sokka and Teo get on very well. They’re brilliant.”

That had not been on Sokka’s itinerary.

“What?” Sokka said.

“Surprise,” said Zuko, offhandedly. “I had to contact the lab to make sure he would be there before I made the arrangements. It will be unfortunate to miss out on a few hours we could spend together—Sokka and I don’t see each other often, you see—but we’ll make up for it tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes. The Grand Opening!” said Kozuma.

“Yes,” said Zuko. “We’re thrilled to be part of the first tour of Republic City’s stunning new library. As soon as I was invited, I knew Sokka would want to join me.”

Sokka tried not to appear just as surprised at this. He had seen _Grand Opening_ on the schedule and had spotted an article about the library, but had not put together that they were the same event. Or that the library was what they were here for—something that, in any other circumstances and with any other companion, Sokka would have _loved_. He had made his friends find a mythical library buried in sand once, after all.

“Will you be there as well, Mr. Rao?” asked Zuko.

“Kozuma,” corrected the reporter softly before clearing his throat. “Yes, I will be there. Perhaps I’ll get a few more quotes from you then. For that article.”

“Oh,” said Zuko. “It will lovely to see you again, then. I thought our presence in the city for the opening was the purpose of the interview, which must be my mistake—what will this article be, then?”

“Your highness,” said Sokka in his best imitation of affection, instead of how he usually imbued Zuko’s honorifics with spite. He plastered on a smile that he hoped Kozuma would see as friendly, but that Zuko might understand as conspiratorial. “I think it’s to reassure the people that you and I won’t start a war.”

Zuko played up his cluelessness, furrowing his brow. “What? Why would we—because of _the cake_?”

“Mhmm,” Sokka confirmed. “The cake. Zuko skips the gossip, Kozuma, it gets tiring after a while. People have a lot of misconceptions about the cake incident. I was teasing Zuko about his dance with my sister, and then—”

“I made a comment about Sokka’s relationship with a mutual friend of ours and made to walk away,” Zuko finished, chuckling as though he thought fondly of the memory. “He pulled me back. It was all part of our…what would you call it? A game? Then when Lady Ayoh’s little niece ran by us we dodged her and lost our balance. After the party we found one another again and apologized to my cousin personally for the accident.”

“Prince Lu Ten is a good sport,” said Sokka. “He sparred us, as a playful way to make up for it I guess, but he never had a chance. Zuko and I are unstoppable when we work together, aren’t we?”

When Sokka looked over, Zuko was staring at him intensely. His head was not even turned towards Kozuma to show off their friendly act; he was just looking at Sokka like he was the only person in the room. It was unsettling and ill-placed, as Sokka had framed his last sentence as a question and expected an answer.

And then Zuko smiled, just an upward tilt of his mouth, but it was enough. “Yes, we are.”

If Sokka didn’t already know that they hated each other, he would never be able to tell.

****

Zuko was quiet again in the carriage on the way to the inn and all the way up the stairs to their rooms. It made Sokka antsy for some reason, perhaps because he’d hoped to banter with Zuko for entertainment, or because he hated that Zuko seemed lost in thought, and Sokka had no way to tell what was on his mind.

As they entered the suite, Sokka took a club to the silence.

“That went well, I think,” said Sokka. Zuko sighed and unfastened his wrist guards, dropping them on the chair closest to the window. It seemed he wasn’t going to answer, so Sokka turned his attention elsewhere. “Do you agree, Ty Lee?”

“I do,” she said. “It was sweet of Zuko to surprise you with his arrangements for this evening.”

“Yeah—what?” Sokka was disarmed yet again by the change Zuko had claimed to make to his itinerary; especially bothered by how Ty Lee said _sweet_ instead of what Sokka was thinking, _clever_. “Sure. For sure. Smart of Prince Whatsit to truly play the part and act as if he knows me so well.”

“I do know you,” said Zuko without turning from the window. He smoothly undid the fastenings under his arms and drew his bulky shoulder piece up over his head. Against the view of the city, Zuko’s uncoiling body was quite the image—reaching up towards the sun, discarding his armor, and drawing his arms across his body in turn to stretch his back and shoulders.

“Right,” said Sokka. Inexplicably, his mouth felt dry and his skin suddenly too hot. “Well, it’s warm in here, so I think—”

He didn’t finish his thought before slipping into his room and closing the door tightly, turning the lock for good measure. The weather in Republic City was more temperate than the South Pole, so Sokka was simply overdressed—he had packed with this very problem in mind. He shed his warm layers, replacing his traditional tunic with a lighter shirt, styled more for Republic City. Instead of wrapping, this pulled over his head and paired with a vest that hung loose around his torso.

He reemerged to find that Zuko had left the living space to change for dinner, so Sokka settled on the sofa and crossed his legs. Ty Lee sat on the floor by the armchairs, fiddling with her fans. She smiled at Sokka knowingly, which made him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

And then Zuko was exiting his room with a flourish, dressed in a dark shirt and pants combination accompanied by a jacket with red and gold detail work. It was very in tune with the fashions of the city, and Sokka wondered if he’d selected it himself or if Azula had insisted that he dress for the times. Either way, this ensemble did less to hide Zuko’s lean figure. If he were anyone else, Sokka would be tempted to undress him with his eyes.

But he did not do that.

Zuko left for dinner with only Ty Lee to accompany him, tasking the other guards with escorting Sokka to the laboratories and back safely. It made for a very dull ride, but the guards stayed back while Sokka met Teo and followed him back to his lab.

Teo had moved to a new building and a bigger space, his equipment shinier and newer but his style still as cluttered and grease-stained as always. He was working on an engine of sorts, and Sokka looked on with fascination as he talked about the latest Republic City tech that he’d contributed to.

“So, you and Zuko are getting along,” said Teo, flipping up his goggles and wiping his hands on a rag. “Finally, yeah?”

“No,” said Sokka. “I wouldn’t call it that. We are tolerating one another for publicity’s sake.”

“Pesky newspapers,” said Teo, wheeling back from his workbench. “They’re advancing photography to be faster—so it will be for more than just formal shots that take forever. The newspapers are over the moon about it.”

“Wonderful,” said Sokka dryly. “The entire world will be trying to catch me making faces at Zuko when he’s not looking.”

Teo laughed. “I think you only make faces at him when he _is_ looking.”

Sokka screwed up his face, perplexed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Sokka. “And where does he get the audacity to say he knows me, when he just thinks of me as a useless sidekick? Fuckin’ Zuko, with that holier than thou, jerkbender extraordinaire bullshit. He didn’t want me at dinner tonight, you know—that’s why I’m here instead.”

“Sure it is,” said Teo. “You can order any meat you please at the fry place down the street, if you’d rather eat with me. Chef Sijo is a genius and I would eat his food every day of the week.”

“Oh?” asked Sokka, picking up something in Teo’s tone. “Are we just talking about his food?”

Teo squawked and threw his grease rag at Sokka, who ducked. His arm was good, but Sokka’s reflexes were better. Sokka thought back to all of the shit they got up to as members of Sokka’s jolly little group of nonbenders (and Haru), playing pai sho and tossing things around the temple. Sokka remembered Teo threatening to run over his toes and subsequently chasing him around in his chair for an hour, until Sokka was finally able to hide behind Appa.

The two of them had also sat by candlelight in the depths of the temple, whispering about boys. Teo had confessed a secret crush on the older, strapping Haru. Sokka admitted he was drawn to boys as well as girls, and he explained his own gender situation to Teo. They nicknamed themselves Lads of Kyoshi, a little nod to the similar flexibility of not only Avatar Kyoshi, but the warriors who maintained their legacy. Sokka had trained with them—he knew few of them were solely into men and regularly kicked through the wall between masculine and feminine.

Sokka and Teo were confidants that understood one another, which also meant they knew what to tease one another about. Teo’s clear crush on whoever this Chef Sijo proved to be an excellent example.

They went to the restaurant, sneaking out the back of the lab so Sokka didn’t have to deal with the Fire Nation guards. He kind of hated travelling with a protection detail, and had never really done it himself even as he became more of a public figure and less of a child soldier on the run. He couldn’t imagine being Zuko, having four people on him just for this trip, and Spirits knew how many milling around his home.

Teo led Sokka to his favorite table at Sijo’s, one with a clear view of the kitchens behind the front counter. He stayed there while Sokka went up to the counter to order and pay for the both of them. Sokka got three different things, like the whale walrus he was, and took their number to the table.

Teo ogled the guy in the back the whole time, who Sokka assumed was Sijo himself. He was admittedly pretty hunky if Sokka’s opinion counted for anything. His terra-cotta hair was shorn almost to his scalp, and his side profile showcased a strong browbone and defined jawline; he wore an undershirt and an apron, his arms bared except for a pair of gloves to protect him from splashing oil. Clearly, he’d been burned before, sporting raised scars on both of his muscly, sweaty arms.

Yeah, so Sokka saw where Teo was coming from.

Teo was deeply flushed by the time their order was ready, and Sijo brought it out himself, flirting shamelessly. He complimented Sokka’s appetite but his attention was mostly on Teo, who had apparently been brushing up on the ways of charming other men. He was much better now than in years before, anyway. Although he wasn’t smooth, exactly, he was honest and sure of himself, which was endearing in its own right.

They left the restaurant late, Sokka taking a custard pie to go. The city was lit up for the evening, now, streetlamps pouring their glow onto the streets. Sokka and Teo took the long way to meet up with Sokka’s stupid entourage at the front, and from there Teo would head home.

“He likes you,” said Sokka once he was sure they were far enough from the restaurant.

“Pfffft,” said Teo. “He’s just nice.”

Sokka laughed bodily, nearly upending his takeaway box onto Teo’s head. He steadied it as he took a few calming breaths before delivering solemnly, “No, he’s absolutely interested. You should go for it. Go big, even—take him to the temple when you go this summer, show him how to fly.”

“Uuuuugh that’s disgustingly romantic,” said Teo. “Why are you like this?”

“I love love.”

Teo muttered something under his breath and Sokka flicked his upper arm.

“What?” asked Sokka.

“Nothing!” Teo insisted. They continued around the corner and the guards were in sight, leaning against the building and chatting idly. “How long are you in the city? I’d love to show you another spot—perfect for guys like you and me, if you catch my drift.”

“We leave Friday morning,” said Sokka. “I’ll see what’s on Zuko’s dumb itinerary and send a messenger in the morning, and we’ll plan from there.”

“Cool,” said Teo. “Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Yeah,” said Sokka. “Hope so.”

He saw Teo off with a wave before the guards donned their serious faces again and ushered Sokka into the carriage. He found himself squirming under their scrutiny the whole ride to the hotel, distracting himself by drumming his hands against his legs. He was no good with rhythm, but it occupied his hands.

When he finally pushed into the suite, Sokka was a few steps ahead of the guards, eager to shut them out of his bedroom for the evening. He left the door open so they could enter behind him, turning to duck into his room, but something about the scene set in the living room gave him pause.

Zuko had turned one of the chairs in the sitting area slightly towards the window and tucked himself comfortably between its arms, one leg folded beneath him and the other bent up at the knee with his bare foot resting on the seat. As Sokka stepped further into the room, he cleared his throat so as not to creep up on Zuko’s left side and get singed. Zuko’s gaze rolled over to catch Sokka’s eye.

“Teo works later than I expected,” said Zuko. “I trust you enjoyed catching up with him?”

“Yeah,” said Sokka. He set his takeaway container on the floor before he toed off his boots and kicked back on the sofa, his head on the end where Zuko could see him and his feet propped up against the opposite arm. “We went for dinner at this place he likes ‘round the corner. Rest assured; I was carnivorous enough to make up for whatever you ate.”

“I’m glad,” said Zuko. “I hoped we wouldn’t have to send someone out for something, lest you complain like you were wasting away.”

“Nah. I gorged myself on like half the menu,” said Sokka. “Brought dessert back.”

“You would,” said Zuko, almost pleasantly. Sokka wasn’t sure what his game was, but he didn’t feel like playacting when they were far from prying eyes and scribbling fountain pens. So he didn’t continue the conversation from there, and neither did Zuko.

A while into their shared silence, Sokka remembered Teo’s invitation. He had expected to ask Zuko in the morning, not to come back to find him lounging and then proceed to lounge with him.

“Hey,” Sokka said, turning his head so that the side of his face pressed into upholstery but his eyes were on Zuko. Zuko, who roused from his trance again to look at Sokka, somehow docile, almost soft. “Remind me of our evening obligations tomorrow.”

Zuko took a long moment before answering, presumably searching his memory, even if it looked like he was just watching Sokka. Like maybe Zuko was searching for something in him, instead.

“I believe we’re dining with one of the library’s donors and a few council members,” said Zuko after his time lost in thought. “Why?”

“If you must know—”

“Of course I _must know_ ,” said Zuko, shaking off what lingered of…whatever that was. He wasn’t sharp, just firm, as he set his shoulders in that familiar way. “If you mean to veer off course, your reasoning matters.”

“Teo invited me out. I guess I’ll go with him next time,” he said. “Unless my presence isn’t required…?”

Zuko huffed. “The point of all of this…the point of this is to appear as friends, Sokka. I can’t very much convince the United Republic of Nations’ leaders that we’re close if you are never even close to me.”

“Fine,” said Sokka. “I’ll go but I’m totally gonna complain about it so much later.”

“I would expect no different,” said Zuko with a sigh. He sounded exhausted, like the day had only just hit him all at once. He brought careful fingers to the corners of his eyes and kneaded gently, the fingers on the scarred side appearing more cautious than the others. “But,” said Zuko, still rubbing at his face and keeping his eyes closed. “I imagine that we could send a messenger to move up the dinner.”

“Huh?” asked Sokka, sitting up.

“On the pretense of our early departure the next morning, of course,” said Zuko, withdrawing his hands and resting them at his sides. “Who am I to prevent you from engaging in Republic City’s budding culture?”

“Prince of the Fire Nation,” said Sokka. “Did you forget?”

“My head is far too heavy with it,” said Zuko. “Anyway, go ahead and cavort around with your friend. I imagine opportunities to go out aren’t abundant in the South Pole.”

“What, you don’t think I have friends there? I mean, sure there’s not many places to go, but…”

The short story was that the friends Sokka most wanted to spend time with were the ones littered across the world, and the longer version had to do with the fact that where Teo was taking him, he _wanted_ a sea of strangers. He wanted to go out and get kissed, and everyone his age in the South Pole that he hadn't already kissed was uninterested or unavailable. 

“I was thinking more because of the cold,” said Zuko, shaking his head in amusement at the way Sokka blustered. “But it’s good to know you’re not intolerable to everyone. Only me.”

“Yep. It’s something special, this,” said Sokka. Zuko exhaled in an almost-laugh, rising from his seat and hovering before Sokka a moment. He loomed there, smirking with what Sokka was sure must be conniving intention. But still, he had just done something nice. “Uh. That was cool of you to uh. Make this work for me.”

It was as close to a thank you as Sokka could give.

“Goodnight, Sokka,” said Zuko before carrying himself gracefully to the double doors leading to his bedroom. Once he was inside, he glanced over his shoulder again, mystifying Sokka completely before he closed the doors softly for the night.

Sokka put his custard pie in the icebox before heading to bed himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Sokka has a brief flirtation with a random cutie on his night out. I promise Zukka will reign supreme, this is just part of my slow burn. 
> 
> I am also letting you know now that I'm going rogue with the governing style of the United Republic of Nations (URN??? Why would they do us like this???). I just think the canon council structure is dumb/flawed and should never have gotten to a point where it was bender-centric; that said I don't want to just idealize the hell out of it, either. I'm trying to put thought into like, the nuance of the political stuff I'm writing in. I'm not a political scientist by any means, I'm just doing what I want with this AU because I can. 
> 
> Another thing on the politics that are coming up in this chapter: The Northern Reunionists are outliers with some extreme interpretations of the difference between the NWT and the SWT. While it's true that the Northern Water Tribe is considered more conservative/patriarchal (which I am sticking to for the most part) they're not Bad People as a whole and they won't be doing any Big Bad Stuff in this fic. It just makes for some political intrigue to spice up the rivals to lovers. 
> 
> Thank you for reading my rambling, if you did.   
> Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

The exterior of the library was stunning, steep marble steps leading up to a row of stately columns with veins of precious minerals that sparkled when they caught the sunlight. Sokka was sweating in the late morning heat, as it approached the warmest time of day and the heat bounced off all of the metal and stone of the buildings around them. He’d dressed in one of his nicer tunics from home, with fur trim that marked him definitively as Water Tribe; he’d embellished with a new leather belt that boasted a medallion of carved bone and silver filigree. It was a little too warm, but he imagined Zuko’s royal armor was more stifling.

The assembled group for the Grand Opening tour stood on the steps of the library in a cluster, posing for the long capture time of the photograph. Sokka held his smile even when a bead of sweat rolled down from his forehead and tickled his nose. It was over sooner than Sokka had thought it would be, having stood for over a minute to get his photograph before, and he figured this photographer was using something new for his camera to work faster. He wished he could ask, but they were already being ushered up the steps for the ribbon cutting photo.

Another speedier-than-expected photo later, and the group of dignitaries and representatives was being guided through the gilded library doors. Just a few steps in, Sokka was already without his proverbial socks, absolutely floored by the beauty of the atrium just inside. The domed skylight above warmed Sokka almost as much as the sun unfiltered, but poured onto the polished stone floor bearing a large Republic City insignia. Beyond that, rows of shelves bearing scrolls and bound books, gorgeous, sweeping staircases that led up to both sides of the mezzanine level, and that smell of old paper permeating the air.

“Wow,” Sokka said, overtaken by the wonder. “Just. Wow.”

“I thought so,” said Zuko at his shoulder, startling Sokka just a little.

One of the library curators started the tour, and Sokka had neither the time nor headspace to prod at Zuko in return. It needled at him that Zuko was so smug about it, but he was far more enraptured by his surroundings. He wanted to soak up the knowledge before him, to hang onto the librarian’s words about anything from the texts they carried to the building materials and new strategies that went into construction.

He followed along through the entire presentation, and as many folks broke off to explore the library or talk politics, Sokka pulled the curator aside to ask about an ancient poetry anthology she had mentioned. It was found in the Earth Kingdom and they had it behind glass in the section of the library devoted to the period, so Sokka finished speaking with her and set off to find it. He double checked to make sure neither of Zuko’s attendants spotted him before he slipped between the stacks.

Sokka followed the signage bolted to the shelves and walked back through history, finally spotting the glass case at the end of an aisle. He went right up to it, and as the curator had promised, the most legible length of scroll was exposed. The plaque surmised that this predated even Avatar Szeto, and a fragment further down the scroll mentioned a mountain city resembling Omashu, so the library had concluded it came between the rise of Omashu and the official unification of the Earth Kingdom.

Through the glass, Sokka pored over the old lettering to read and re-read the poetry. There were some faded words and some that were very hard to read, but Sokka appreciated what he could understand. The two poems on this stretch of the parchment were close enough in style that they could have been written by the same poet; both carried images of being lost in the dark, both literally in physical space and in terms of mental state. The poet had transcribed their grief, first after the loss of a sister, and in the second poem their own child.

Sokka sniffled when the last visible line sunk in, hoping that the sister and son met each other in the spirit world and could hold each other in the absence of the speaker. It made him think of a day long ago, when someone told him that his mother’s spirit was intertwined with the spirits of everyone she’d ever loved—even those who hadn’t been born yet.

Sokka couldn’t remember who had said it, but he remembered that Katara had seemed soothed by it. It hadn’t really comforted Sokka, who didn’t want his mother embedded into history—he wanted her there, where she could hold him. When he tried to remember the last time she’d held him, he just remembered fur in his face.

It was time to move on from the scroll, lest he become a sobbing mess on the floor of the library. How embarrassing that would be, when the whole reason he was here was for the integrity of his reputation? Sokka was a representative of his homeland; he had to represent his tribe with strength, not weakness brought on by ancient poetry and a memory of his mother.

He moved forward through time again, approaching literature from the century predating the Hundred Years’ War. It seemed to be sorted by nation of origin as well as genre, with little elemental symbols engraved on the plaques on the end of each shelf. Sokka ran his finger over the Water Tribe symbol and marveled at the size of the collection. Before the war, the Water Tribe had substantial literature, though less than other societies due to their reliance on oral tradition. Sokka had access to all of three books growing up, eight if you counted the various books he could borrow from other tribe members; most of the stories he’d ever known he’d heard from Gran Gran or his mother.

His time travelling the world with Aang had been stressful, but he’d seen and learned so much that he couldn’t help but be thankful for it.

The sound of a rustling page turned Sokka’s head, and a glint of metal drew his eye—between two shelves of Earth Kingdom prewar literature, Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation was sitting hunched over a weathered volume that wasn’t much bigger than his palm.

Sokka crouched before him in the aisle, quieting his breath and watching Zuko’s eyes as they slid down the page. If Zuko was so focused that he didn’t see Sokka, he’d jump a mile when he finally noticed; Sokka wanted to see how long it took.

Unfortunately, Zuko was not as oblivious as he looked.

“I see you,” said Zuko as he turned a page. “You’re on my good side.”

“Are you sure you have a good side?” asked Sokka, shuffling closer and lowering himself so that he sat in front of Zuko, his back against the shelf. It was nice—the stone was cool through the fabric of his pants and tunic. “Because from here all of your sides look boring and emotionally constipated.”

“If I’m so boring,” said Zuko, “why don’t you leave me alone?” 

“Whatever, Prince Jerkbender,” said Sokka. He leaned forward, draping his hands over his propped up and spread knees, trying to glean something about the little book in Zuko’s hands. Zuko’s eyes finally flicked in Sokka’s direction, both narrowed in annoyance. “Whatcha reading?”

Sokka watched Zuko’s eyes return to his book, closing it with his finger between the pages to mark his place, before he looked up again. Assessing Sokka.

“It’s—” he began. Sokka used his pause to get the jump on him, easily slipping his finger between the book’s pages and tugging it out of Zuko’s grasp with a proud little laugh. Zuko’s jaw fell open as Sokka drew back out of his space, book in hand, before he shut his mouth tightly again in a tense little line. “Be careful with that, it’s very old.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Sokka, examining the spine and binding with a delicate finger. It was a pretty sturdy fabric cover, but in some places the dark green color had been worn lighter and the texture was rough under Sokka’s thumb. “It’s prewar, probably like two hundred years old. Maybe three. Very intact, actually, but they should probably make people handle these older volumes with gloves…which I see you have. I did not get the memo.”

He handed the book back to Zuko, who handled it carefully with the light linen gloves on his hands.

“Whoops,” said Sokka. “Good thing I wash my hands frequently, though it is more about the oils in your skin than the dirt. Where did you get those?”

“There’s a box at the start of the collection. That way,” said Zuko, pointing towards the entrance where the atrium still glowed golden. Sokka got up and jogged to retrieve a pair, noting that there was a return bin on the same cart that held the clean gloves.

When Sokka returned, Zuko was reading again. He didn’t look up as Sokka lowered himself again, crossing his legs and getting comfortable.

“The title is faded from the cover,” said Sokka. “I didn’t catch it.”

“It’s a novella titled _The Heart of the Earth_ , and I’d like to finish reading it, please,” said Zuko, drawing the book up as though it were big enough to hide his face behind. It wasn’t.

Sokka sighed and put his gloves on, the linen scratching against the calluses on his hands. He turned around on his butt, his back to Zuko as he searched the bottom shelves for something to stick his nose into with as much dedication. He thought he’d found something interesting enough, a leathery volume that was tall and thin with ridges in the spine, but then Zuko cleared his throat. Sokka glanced at him.

“It’s very interesting,” Zuko said. “It’s about a woman who builds a machine to travel as far into the earth as she can, despite the protests of her family. I think you would like her.”

“Does she do it?” Sokka asked, scooting back around to face him.

“Yes. She’s just seen the planet’s core now and describes it as a very hot stone. I wonder how true that is.”

“I think there must be some science to it,” mused Sokka. “Like hot springs. The water’s heat comes up from the ground, yeah? It’s just very hard to get that far and actually investigate. How does she—”

“Hold on,” said Zuko, holding up a finger and turning a page. He was nearing the end of the book, with very few pages left. Sokka waited for him to finish and gently ease the little book shut. His face had tightened as he took in the ending, and Sokka wondered if the pivotal character had died before she could get home. “She didn’t get there at all,” said Zuko bitterly. “Her machine lost power and she lay there, exhausted and starving, and she merely dreamed what the heart of the Earth was like. It…it ends when she opens her eyes to see her lover nursing her back to health.”

“Her lover is the heart of the Earth, then,” said Sokka after ruminating for a moment. “It’s not about a grand discovery at all, but…rediscovering home, I guess.”

“Oh,” said Zuko. “I wouldn’t have thought of that. Not on the first read, anyway. Maybe if I went back…”

“Maybe,” said Sokka. “Hey, wait a second. Where are your guards?”

Zuko held the tiny book delicately in both hands and smiled like a little boy with his hand caught in the jar of seaweed cookies. It was a gleeful and simultaneously guilty look that Sokka had never seen on Zuko before.

“I ditched them,” said Zuko. “They were annoying me, and I can take care of myself. Plus, we’re in a library. What could happen?”

“I don’t know, we could get attacked by a giant bird spirit tasked with preserving the knowledge,” said Sokka. “Or the library could begin to sink underground forever.”

“Well, what would my firebending guards—who are not better firebenders than I am, mind you—do about that?” asked Zuko. “Roast the spirit for a spot of supper?”

Sokka laughed, a clear, surprised bark of laughter that he quickly muffled with his hand. Zuko chuckled, small and awkward but so genuine, and Sokka almost wondered why he hadn’t heard Zuko laugh like this. Why he hadn’t tried to make Zuko laugh like this.

But Sokka knew why.

“I feel like that’s too specific to be a made-up example,” said Zuko. He twisted a little in his place to slide his book back onto the shelf, in the little gap that he had marked with a slip of paper. When he turned back to Sokka, he lowered his bent knees to mirror Sokka’s cross-legged position. “I’ve never heard that story. Perhaps parts of it, if we’re thinking of the same library, but I didn’t realize the spirit chased you out.”

“Well, what Aang remembers most is that Appa was gone when we came out,” said Sokka. “Another awful but also kind of funny part, though—I got high in the desert because I drank cactus juice. I remember very little of it.”

“Oh, really?” Zuko asked, his eyebrow quirked up in interest.

“And Momo,” Sokka added. “Momo was high, too.”

Zuko snorted, quickly stifling it by tightening his features and exhaling through his nose slowly, calming himself and likely trying to dispel the image. Even if they weren’t in a library, staying quiet would keep the guards from finding them.

“So, you hate being guarded as much as I do,” said Sokka, bringing the conversation back around. “Honestly, that sucks. Even dickheads like you deserve some space.”

Zuko shook his head, smiling. “Yeah. They leave me be at home—they stick to their posts, generally. I’ve been learning to fight for myself since I was basically a toddler and I was on the run for years with Uncle. I don’t believe I need guarding, most of the time.”

“What if I swung into your window and tried to assassinate you? Get you out of my hair for good?” asked Sokka. “What, then?”

“I could shout for the guards stationed in the hall.”

“I get you when you’re sleeping,” said Sokka. “Super stealthy, quiet as a…well, a something that’s quiet. Hit you with a Lurking Swipe-and-Slash and then sneak back out through the window so they never know it was me!”

“I’m a light sleeper,” said Zuko. “Practically an insomniac. And a _firebender_ , Sokka.”

“Wait, hold on,” said Sokka. “What do the guards do if you bring someone back for a little…y’know?”

“What?” asked Zuko.

“You know.”

“I _don’t_ know,” said Zuko. “What are you talking about? Bring someone back for— _oh_.” Zuko turned red and frowned deeply. “I would rather not speak with you about _that_. Not _ever_.”

Sokka shrugged it off. Zuko—and the Fire Nation in general, actually—was pent up and prudish. Sokka should’ve known that kind of question would be too much, but he’d gotten carried away.

Still, Sokka felt compelled to say, with a devilish grin, “Never say never, highness.”

Zuko wiggled his leg out to kick Sokka gracelessly, and Sokka keeled over with muffled laughter.

****

The guards tracked them down eventually, apparently having circled around the whole library. They were miffed about it, particularly because it was approaching time for dinner and the carriage had already arrived. Zuko waved them off when they tried to remind him of propriety, rising to his feet and brushing himself off. He peeled his gloves from his hands and handed them off to the guards, practically showing off his superiority.

Sokka discarded his own gloves as they passed the bin. He felt like Zuko had seemed almost normal for a moment, talking books with Sokka and prodding at him playfully from time to time. It took only seconds to dissolve that image, and Sokka resolved that he would not be so fooled again.

And to think, he’d almost considered asking Zuko to dress down and come with them to Teo’s wine bar tonight. But he could never blend in, and he would probably hate the place anyway, so Sokka cut that idea off before it really sprouted.

They arrived at the dinner on time, greeted by a stuffy councilman and his dear friend, a professor from Ba Sing Se. The councilman led them around the room, introducing Zuko and Sokka to the rest of the guests –two more council members Sokka had read about but never met, as well as Gi, looking sharp in a purple suit that Sokka suspected was a gift from Yue. The library donors and spearheads of the project were the professor, a very rich old man named Mr. Shun and his elegant young daughter.

Everyone was still sipping drinks and eating appetizers, so Sokka ordered a cocktail and broke off from Zuko to find Gi again, the one person he knew. He was in the councilman’s study, examining a map hung on the wall, when Sokka found him.

“Good to see you,” said Sokka, leaning up against the desk. “How is Yue lately? I’ve been meaning to write her.”

“Doing well,” said Gi, sipping from his own glass. Just water, it seemed. “Her mother has fallen ill, unfortunately. I believe I will travel to the North soon, when the council takes a long recess later this month.”

“Is it very serious?” asked Sokka.

“They’re not sure. The healers say that it seems more like they’re keeping it at bay than curing the illness,” said Gi, adjusting his glasses solemnly. “I wish I could be with her now. Yue is resilient, but she feels very deeply, as you know.”

“I do,” said Sokka.

Zuko chose that moment to poke his head into the study, greeting Gi warmly and wedging himself into the conversation. He stood an equal distance from Sokka and Gi, near the center of the room.

“I spoke with Princess Yue briefly at the wedding,” said Zuko. “She speaks very highly of your work on the council here in the city.”

“I’m just a small part of the work we do,” said Gi modestly. “Yue is a great big flatterer.”

Sokka tilted his glass in silent agreement, and Gi chuckled.

“Pardon me for overstepping, but what is the nature of your relationship with the princess?” asked Zuko, tilting his head inquisitively. “I feel I am out of the loop, here.”

“Oh,” said Gi, flushing. “I suppose we are very modest about it. I’ve been Yue’s suitor for two years’ time, but we’ve been exclusively courting for almost ten months.”

“I did not know she was involved,” said Zuko after a long pause. “Congratulations, Gi. You seem a good fit—and the colors of the Water Tribe become you.”

Gi smoothed his hand down the front of his suit jacket, looking very content with the compliment. It was a perfectly pleasant interaction, but something about it made Sokka’s skin itch—perhaps just Zuko’s involvement was enough. Sokka straightened himself against the desk and turned a look on the prince that he hoped was enough of a glare that Zuko got the point.

“I don’t imagine you ask because you’re on the prowl,” said Sokka. “Be wary, Gi, Zuko thinks unmarried is the same as fair game.”

“I don’t,” said Zuko, low and sharp. “I danced with your sister because she is my friend, Sokka.”

“Oh, yes,” said Sokka. “We’re all great friends. Of course. How could I forget.”

“I’m not _interested_ in—”

Before Zuko could finish whatever he was about to say to Sokka, Gi cleared his throat and shifted towards the doorway, nodding at the party that was still going on all around them. Of course—Gi had heard Sokka’s loud complaints about Zuko throughout the whole weekend of Lu Ten’s wedding festivities and surely knew this friendship crap was all a ruse. Sokka wished he’d thought about that before he’d jabbed at Zuko, but it was already done.

Zuko looked darkly between the party and Sokka, flaring his nostrils on his exhale before turning on his heel with a flourish and waltzing right out of the study. Moments later, Sokka distantly heard Zuko speaking cheerfully with their host about dinner.

When they sat down to the meal, Sokka ate far more than he engaged in conversation. The council members spoke to one another and the donors and Zuko, but no one seemed to care much about the son of the Southern Water Tribe at the table. Gi leaned into Sokka’s space to comment on the conversation, but they weren’t juicy gossip or snide additions; it was all just fun facts. He didn’t mind, since it was nice that someone was paying attention to him.

Zuko didn’t come find Sokka again for the after-dinner mingling. Instead he stuck around the host to talk politics, while Sokka stepped aside with Gi once again.

“No one had much to say about Water Tribe dealings this evening,” said Sokka. “Are there no issues on the docket, or…”

“I thought you might notice. That,” said Gi, gesturing to a man across the room wearing a gray tunic, “is Councilman Hiraq. He represents the North and has ties to Yue’s family, so I try not to antagonize him, but since you asked—Hiraq is a Northern Reunionist. Bringing Water Tribe politics to the table is dangerous when he’s around and we all know it.”

Sokka groaned. “Asshole.”

“He's been pushing for fewer council positions,” said Gi. “I do agree that the interim council is flawed, but in the sense that the representation is unequal; most of us from the Earth Kingdom are from Ba Sing Se, which is very different than Si Wong Desert villages or Gaoling. I've proposed creating an additional branch to help determine what comes to the council, but Hiraq thinks we need only one small governing body and maintains that there be five council positions—one for each of the nations, with the United Republic representative serving as the primary executive of city leadership.”

“And by that logic, there’s no Southern Water Tribe representation,” said Sokka. “So, I’ve just eaten dinner with someone who wants to absorb my tribe and unseat my father. Cool.”

“It’s subtle,” said Gi. “There’s not much in the news about Hiraq’s agenda and he disguises it with other rhetoric. Zuko wouldn’t have known when he helped make these arrangements. Don’t take your frustrations out on him, Sokka.”

“Of course not,” said Sokka gruffly, crossing his arms. “I’m still pissed that I’m here, though.”

“Yes,” said Gi. “That’s understandable. Yue and I have talked at length about this issue, and I find the Reunion movement to be very frustrating and closed-minded. You are sister tribes; you’re not supposed to be the same.”

“Agreed,” said Sokka. “Anyone who thinks sisters should be the same has no idea how siblings work.”

Gi chuckled. “I have two sisters and a younger brother,” he said. “I understand what you mean _completely_.”

Sokka listened to Gi talk about his family a while longer, glad to change the subject and distract himself from the vile feeling that had crept in when he realized what Hiraq stood for. Eventually, one of Zuko’s guards came to collect him, and they left the dinner party in the same carriage. Sokka was growing very tired of it. All of it.

Back at the Grand Inn, Sokka changed into an unitard suit with a closer silhouette than his usual getup, threw on his vest and a belt with pockets, and traded his Water Tribe boots for the ones he had purchased in Republic City. They made his feet look smaller than he would’ve liked, but they were fashionable and made a delightful sound against the floor when he walked back out into the common space. 

He looked fresh and sexy and ready to ditch this crowd for something fun.

Zuko had shed his armor again and sat curled up in the same chair as before, his hair released from the topknot. It hung in his face and graced his shoulders, and Sokka’s fingers itched to push the stray tendrils out of Zuko’s eyes. It looked wrong and annoying.

“I’m going,” said Sokka. “Gonna meet up with Teo near his lab. I’ll walk—it’s a nice night.”

“Is it very far?” asked Zuko.

Sokka shrugged. “I’ve walked much farther.”

“Are you okay, after tonight?” asked Zuko. “I saw you speaking with Councilman Gi after dinner…”

“Oh,” said Sokka, waving it off. Something in him noted that Zuko was _paying attention_ , though. He didn’t want to listen to that something; he wanted to move on and have his night out. “It was politics. With personal ties. I’m fine.”

“Personal ties?”

“Yeah,” said Sokka. Though the Reunionist issue wasn’t really solely Sokka’s, he took it very personally, on behalf of his tribe, his family, and his own identity. “ _Personal_.”

“Oh,” Zuko said softly. “Okay. Have a good time.”

Sokka nodded curtly and left the suite, taking the stairs down to the lobby quickly, but stopping to finally do his coin experiment before he made it all the way down. The clatter of his silver piece against the floor echoed through the lobby and stairwells and brought a satisfied grin to Sokka’s face. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he retrieved the coin—he saw that it had landed heads-up, which he took as a sign that the rest of the night would be good.

****

The wine bar that Teo brought Sokka to was tucked at the edge of the manufacturing sector of the city, in a building that had seen better days but was not at its worst, either. The sign was lit with purple and white lights, giving it a patterned effect as it proclaimed that they’d found the right place. _The Grapevine._

There wasn’t a line outside, so the man at the door swept Sokka and Teo inside with barely a look at them. Teo wheeled carefully over a threshold, but otherwise found smooth sailing as they travelled down a narrow, dimly lit hall toward boisterous music.

The inside of _The Grapevine_ was lit with similar colored lights to the sign above the door, but these moved and strobed to the music. The crowd was sparse around the bar and alcove tables, concentrated on a sunken dancefloor. Teo rolled directly to the bar to speak with the pretty girl behind it, presumably ordering their first round, and Sokka went ahead to find a place to sit—there was a low table with armchairs around it right near the small set of steps leading down to the dancefloor, which seemed most convenient for Teo’s chair and Sokka’s own penchant for dance.

When Teo found him, he was grinning, his face pink under the lights.

“There’s more to it than the drinks and snacks,” said Teo. “It’s the ambiance.”

“More of a party spot than you’d expect for a wine bar,” said Sokka. “But I like the vibes. Seems cool.”

“The eye candy is good too,” said Teo, wiggling his eyebrows. The girl from the bar brought over a tray with wine, fruit, and something fried, smiling brightly at Sokka and kissing the top of Teo’s head in a friendly way. “Nin,” said Teo. “This is my friend Sokka.”

Nin waved with her fingers before waltzing off.

“She’s a little shy,” said Teo. “But she’s a fixture here. She’s dating the gal who owns the place.”

“Oh, so you really meant it when you said this place suited guys like us,” said Sokka. “I thought maybe it was just that part of the crowd would be…”

“Nope,” said Teo. “This is _the_ spot for us. It’s kind of slow right now, since a lot of folks have shifts in the morning, but…well, instead of _like Kyoshi_ , around here people tend to say we _‘walk the grapevine.’_ Or if we’re being a little raunchy, we’re _‘grape suckers’_ or _‘grape drinkers._ ’”

Sokka laughed. “That’s nuts! I love it.”

More people came as the night really swung into motion, and after a few cups of wine, Sokka left Teo to do some dancing. Teo said he would look on and laugh at Sokka, though apparently, he sometimes got himself into the pit with help so he could show off his nifty new wheels—they had more range of motion for turning and swiveling, if he unlocked the casters.

“I made them just for dancing,” said Teo. “And to prove that I could, of course.”

“Of course,” said Sokka.

Sokka was loosened up enough that he wasn’t really embarrassed about his dorky style of dancing, just allowed himself to move as the music suggested he should. A wiggle here, a roll there, a breast-stroke-like thing every once in a while. He bumped up against a group of guys dancing, and they laughed good-naturedly, but one seemed to look at Sokka longer than the others.

Sokka slid further onto the dancefloor, around the group—they were paired off, for the most part, but the one guy who caught his eye appeared to be alone. Sokka danced up to him, allowing himself to be jostled into the boy’s shoulder, and used the opportunity to hit him with a winning smile.

The boy smiled back. He’d painted stars on his cheeks with makeup and had short, wild curls he had to keep pushing out of his eyes. Sokka held out a hand to him, and he accepted.

The man with the stars danced with Sokka for a long time, draping his arms over Sokka’s shoulders and laughing when Sokka cracked a joke. Sokka kept brushing his hair out of his eyes, and about an hour into their dance, Sokka joked that if it were a little bit longer he could wear it in a wolftail.

“I wish,” said the man. “If I could look even half as hot as you do, I’d wear my hair like this all the time.”

He punctuated it with a flick to Sokka’s hair and a crooked grin. That was all it took for him to pretty much seal the deal. Sokka was putty in his hands.

“What’s your name?” asked Sokka.

“What?” He had to shout over the music, so Sokka drew nearer to his ear.

“Your name,” prompted Sokka.

“Oh! It’s Hanh Li” he said. “And you?”

“Sokka.”

Hanh Li smiled. “Would you like to have a drink with me, Sokka?”

Sokka nodded enthusiastically and swept Hanh Li off the dancefloor, a hand on his lower back and a grin plastered to his face. Teo caught his eye and offered a double thumbs-up, and Sokka noticed that there was a discarded jacket on the chair near his friend that had certainly not been there before.

He gestured to it, and Teo hid his face in his hands. Interesting.

Sokka sat at the bar with his new companion, and since it was a little quieter over here they were able to talk a little. Hanh Li was from a place called Shi Goen near the northernmost mountains of the Earth Kingdom, but he had moved to Republic City when it was still called Cranefish Town—practically just after the war. He didn’t say anything about how Fire Nation occupation may or may not have effected his home, but he said he didn’t have anyone left there.

He had found family in the city, Hanh Li said, and Sokka was happy that someone that was like a spot of light in the sky had people to call home.

Sokka felt the warmth of the alcohol under his skin and, with every passing moment with Hanh Li, he found it harder and harder not to kiss him. Though his wits were scattered, he still had some of them, so Sokka leaned in and asked, “Is there anywhere in this place two fellas can have some time alone?”

Hanh Li smiled and took Sokka by the hand, leading him through the club and to a metal door in a corner behind one of the alcove booths, propped open with a brick. Hanh Li opened the door and tugged Sokka into the chill night air, shivering just a little when it made contact with his skin. Sokka was used to much, much colder, but still he pressed into the other man’s space as though seeking warmth—

Hanh Li kissed like he spoke and like he danced, with something like light woven into it. Sokka was probably just drunk, waxing poetic about this man he barely knew, but it had been so long since he’d had this. Soft lips against his, fingers in his hair and scratching his scalp, a hand warm against his hip. They kissed against the wall in the alley for long enough that Sokka’s felt breathless—he pulled away and tilted his head up, letting Hanh Li nose at his throat as he listened to the sounds of the city and the music drifting out from _The Grapevine_.

A bell tower somewhere announced a new hour, and Sokka counted—he expected twelve, or even one, but not _two_.

With another kiss, he untangled himself from Hanh Li. “It’s getting late, I think I should go.”

“You’re sure you can get home safe?” asked Hanh Li. In the light of the alleyway, Sokka could see that his stars were painted in red and purple. “I…um. I have a flat a few blocks away.”

“No, no, I couldn’t,” said Sokka. “I have to be somewhere in the morning, and I have to find my friend. I’m sorry, I…it was good to meet you, Hanh Li.”

“Likewise.”

Sokka wedged himself back into the club to find Teo, who was deep in conversation with a familiar broad shape. Chef Sijo, it seemed, was also a frequent patron of _The Grapevine_. Sokka would tease Teo for months after this. He’d probably get the same treatment about sneaking off with a near-stranger, though.

Sokka walked Teo home and promptly hailed a cab for himself, glad it was the more modest open cart instead of Zuko’s ornate little carriage. They were starting to build tracks for a train in the city, inspired by Ba Sing Se’s monorail system, but it was a long way from completion—Sokka was excited to see it in action when the time came.

Back at the hotel, he took off his boots so as not to make a great deal of noise on the stairs as he made his way up to the room, finding his key in the pocket of his belt and turning the lock quickly, so he could slip inside. Ty Lee was awake, sitting at the window in her armor but no makeup, and she smiled at Sokka as he entered.

“Good morning,” she said, without judgement. “It’s morning now, you know.”

“Morning,” said Sokka.

“Zuko wanted to know if he could eat your custard pie,” whispered Ty Lee. “He’d hoped you would be home sooner so he could ask.”

Sokka felt just tipsy enough, just happy enough, that sharing it didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

“Sure,” he said. “Do you think he’s still up?”

“I think he’s asleep,” she said. “But the next time he gets up for a glass of water, I’ll tell him.”

“He’s really not the best sleeper, is he?” asked Sokka. “I get that. I think too much, sometimes.”

“Hmm,” said Ty Lee, nodding. “Zuko dreams too much, I think.”

Sokka nodded, not knowing what to say to that. After a spell of silence, he slipped away to leave Ty Lee at her post until dawn, muttering a goodnight as he stepped through the doors to his bedroom. She giggled to herself, and he heard it drop off as he closed the door behind him.

****

In the morning, Zuko was in a mood. He spoke sharply and rushed Sokka, dismayed that he hadn’t finished packing and dressed by the time Zuko wanted to be out the door. As if their stupid little carriage or their stupid hulking airship could leave without them.

On the way out, Sokka checked the icebox to check if his custard pie had been eaten. If not, he’d take it to go once more.

But the icebox was empty. As he closed it, he thought he caught Zuko looking quickly away, lifting one hand to wipe at the corner of his mouth. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at home in the South Pole, Sokka recieves an invitation to the Fire Nation's annual Cherry Blossom Festival.

* * *

The wall on which he perched was cold through the seat of Sokka’s pants, but he wore enough layers that it was only a slight chill. He’d drawn up his furry hood to ward off the wind, but his lined Water Tribe gloves were tucked beneath his arm, replaced by a pair he’d bought in the Earth Kingdom. His more traditional gloves were warmer, but they sectioned off his fingers in a way that was not conducive to the movement of his pencil as he drew the patchy skyline of the capital.

In some places the buildings extended further out than others, becoming complete and thriving neighborhoods; as the coldest season ended, builders were starting to lay the first bricks of new homes, shops, or venues.

The Reconstruction project was going beautifully, and it was going with a distinct Southern Water Tribe flair. Buildings went up in clear rows, but they rose to different heights and were sometimes cobbled together of different materials to supplement the ice—stone, wood, and especially pelts. He could not see it all from here, but the oldest of the buildings showed their wear; there may not have been a war, but there was still a great deal of weather in the South Pole. It was cohesive, but not seamless; growing to meet the times but still feeling like a home.

Sokka thought Agna Qel’a was beautiful, too, with its attention to detail and order. Everything in its place along orderly streets and canals. But that was the North. This was the South.

As soon as he’d arrived home from Republic City, Sokka had begun a letter to Yue. Within it, he asked after her mother, but he also broached what he and Gi had discussed at the dinner—the issue with the Northern Reunionists. Yue had written back in good time, deeply worried on both counts. He almost didn’t want to wait to see her until the New Moon Celebration, even if it was only a matter of weeks; she seemed like she needed a friend.

Because Zuko had left him with an insistence that they strike up a consistent correspondence, Sokka had sent him a letter, too. More accurately, he’d sent a piece of parchment headed with “My dear friend Zuko,” and finished with “Yours, Sokka.” The body of the letter was not a letter at all but a sloppy drawing of Zuko’s scowling face.

He’d showed Katara before he sealed it, and she’d told him it was oddly accurate for such a rushed piece. When she suggested he try to draw Zuko for real, with the care and precision he’d developed over the years, Sokka had grimaced and kicked the leg of her chair.

Now, he heard her voice distantly, calling across the expansive front courtyard of the Capitol.

“Sokka!”

She was still far enough that perhaps she did not see him atop the wall, where he was pretty firmly not supposed to be. Not since he’d fallen one time and broke the same leg that had only barely healed at the time. It was probably the reason it still hurt sometimes.

“Get down from there!” Katara scolded from below, and Sokka turned his head to peer down at her. She was wrapped in a warm blanket-like housecoat instead of her parka, indicating she really did not plan on staying outside for any length of time. But she’d still ventured this far to remind him he was breaking the rules.

Classic Katara. 

“Put on a coat, dumbass,” said Sokka, folding up his sketch and placing it between the pages of his notebook. He slid the book and his pencil up into his coat, where he secured it in the belt-holster he’d made himself, before he shoved his hands back into his weather-appropriate gloves. “Is lecturing me really worth freezing half to death?”

Sokka carefully shifted his body so that he could scale backwards down the wall, though he considered jumping down just to freak Katara out. He was better at landing when he did the falling on purpose. As he navigated his way down the wall, finding those subtle hand-and-footholds, Katara sighed loudly and impatiently.

“Would you like me to just jump?” asked Sokka.

“No!” she cried.

“I think you would,” said Sokka, still shimmying his way down. He hung off the wall a little, letting his left hand and foot hang freely in the air as if he’d actually do it.

“Sokka, if you break something, I’m _not_ going to fix it,” said Katara, fully aware of her own bluff. Sokka climbed until he was almost down, hopping off easily and turning to Katara. She drew her housecoat closer around her shoulders and scowled at him. “Are you broken?”

“Nope,” said Sokka. “But you’re cold.”

He lunged forward to sweep her up in his arms, but Katara was quick and knew his tells. She shrieked like he was covered in some distasteful substance and ran from Sokka, light on her feet as she zigged and zagged back to the entrance to their home. Sokka was fast, too—at the doorway he grabbed Katara around her middle and hoisted her up over his shoulder like a sack of imported rice flour. He carried her all the way through the entrance hall and off to the side, where a fire crackled away in the large parlor. It was more for entertaining than for family use, but he wasn’t going to carry her all the way up the stairs.

Sokka deposited his struggling sister in front of the hearth and earned a smack to the first part of him within her reach—the top of his hip. Sokka mussed her hair before sinking to the floor beside her, tugging off both pairs of gloves to warm his fingers.

“What brought you out there, my dear pest?” asked Sokka.

“Oh,” said Katara, her eyes lighting up as she remembered. “A messenger hawk left you a letter at the gate—here, it’s somewhere…” She dug around inside her coat, eventually finding something and emerging triumphant with a sealed scroll. “Aha.”

Sokka swiped it from her hand and curled his lip at the Fire Nation insignia imprinted on the wax, breaking the seal with a vengeance and unrolling the letter.

_Sokka,_

_Your artwork of me was much appreciated and I’m told it’s a very good likeness. Mai came for a visit and she suggested it could be a photograph, it so perfectly portrays my brooding face._

_How is the South Pole? I never asked, but do you have a library in the capital? If so, I would love to visit next time I travel your way—I don’t know yet if it will be for leisure or diplomacy. Likely a little of both._

_The spring is beautiful in Caldera City. Cherry blossoms are beginning to bloom and the annual festival has been scheduled to begin Thursday next and carry on through the weekend. If I remember correctly, the last Cherry Blossom Festival you attended was some four or five years ago. You and Aang had quite a lot of fun piling up the fallen petals and rolling around in them. I would appreciate your attendance this year, and I offer myself as your personal guide when I am not tending to my political responsibilities. I am sure you will find that the festival is more than equipped to entertain you all weekend; I think the food especially will be an adventure for you, Sokka._

_Please consider my offer and send your reply by hawk as soon as you decide._

_Your friend,_

_Prince Zuko_

Zuko had drawn a little stick figure at the bottom of the page, wielding a little boomerang one hand.

“Blegh,” said Sokka. He folded the letter crisply and tucked it in his pocket with his sketch, returning both hands to their place hovering before the fire. “Zuko.”

“I hardly expected that you were corresponding with Fire Lord Iroh,” said Katara.

Sokka repeated her words verbatim in a high, mocking tone. Katara had little to offer besides a dramatic roll of her eyes.

“It’s an invitation,” Sokka grumbled. “To the Cherry Blossom Festival. It’s so fucking patronizing. As if I couldn’t just go to the festival if I wanted to!”

“Well, yes,” said Katara. “But he invited you to be there _with_ him.”

“Yeah, duh?” Sokka made a face. “I don’t need you to state the obvious, sis. But like, he’s so full of it. And on top of all that, half of this letter is like. I can’t tell if he’s making fun of me or trying to bribe me with food? What’s that about?”

“Or it’s just an invitation,” said Katara.

“Right, to keep up the fake friendship,” Sokka scoffed. “This whole thing is ridiculous and confusing. I knew he was into acting and could lie like a champ, but it’s still freaky how good he is at pretending.”

“Yeah,” said Katara dryly. “Pretending.”

Sokka’s mouth opened with a little popping sound of dismay as he looked to Katara.

“Zuko sympathizer,” he hissed at her. “He’s pretending.”

“I’m so, so tired of telling you this,” said Katara. “But Zuko doesn’t hate you. Whatever is in that letter that you think is a sneaky insult, it’s probably not.”

“How would you know? He’s diabolical!”

Katara barked a laugh, high and clear and loud like a puffin-seal’s cry. Sokka waved his arms around indignantly while she just kept laughing. Eventually he just flopped onto his back, sticking up his feet so he could yank off his boots and wiggle his toes towards the fire to reawaken them.

Katara finally finished, wiping the corners of her eyes as she sputtered out a few final chuckles.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t,” said Katara. “ _Diabolical_. Pfft. I find it very hard to picture Zuko plotting ways to insult you _as_ he invites you to his home. At the very least, it would bother him how much parchment and ink he’d go through trying to get an evil letter to be perfect; he hates to waste his ink.”

“Then why write to me at all?” asked Sokka, rolling his head to the side to look up at her. She was still sitting up, and from his angle a great deal of her face was cast in shadow and the rest lit by flickering firelight.

“Easy,” said Katara, her eyes clear and sure when they met his. “You’re not a waste of his ink.”

Sokka huffed and brought his gaze back up to the parlor’s high ceiling, straining his eyes to see the glistening droplets on the ice. When he was little, Sokka had always worried that the warmth of a fire would melt their structures of ice or a stray spark might ignite a sealskin tent. But the cold was deeper and stronger than the little crackling fire, and the ice in the South Pole cold always lost heat faster than it warmed over. Any stray drops would freeze again in moments.

“So,” said Katara after a long stretch of silence. “When’s the festival?”

“Next week,” said Sokka.

“And? Will you go?”

“Suppose I have to,” said Sokka. “At least to be seen there. Would be rude of me to decline such an offer from my _very best friend_.”

Katara laughed, and Sokka no longer had it in him to feel offended.

“The cherry blossoms are beautiful, Sokka,” said Katara. “And the festival was so much fun when we went years ago. Even if you bicker with Zuko, I can’t imagine you’d regret the entire trip.”

“Ah, you and your optimism,” said Sokka. “Fine. I’ll go and I’ll _try_ to enjoy myself, but I’ll absolutely do my fair share of complaining. You can’t stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

****

Knowing that Aang pretty much had a blanket invitation to all Fire Nation events, between his position as the Avatar and as a friend of both princes, Sokka hoped that he’d at least see a real friend at the Cherry Blossom Festival. But Aang was overseeing restoration of the Southern Air Temple, and apparently this week marked an important part of the project. Toph was invited, but she was taking her best bending students on an excursion to Omashu that weekend.

Sokka asked Katara to tag along, but she insisted that she hadn’t been invited. When he pushed, she’d claimed she made plans; Sokka didn’t believe her until she explained she was meeting with Yuka, the prospective candidate and old friend of their mother’s, as well as taking on her first waterbending protégé. 

So Sokka was to travel to the Fire Nation on his own. He’d insisted that his father sleep in, rather than following him up the cliff to wait for the airship; he’d only have to make his way back down again in time for his morning briefing and the first session with the council. Sokka climbed up himself, using the time to prepare himself—the path was long and winding, but it was better than a narrow, steep trek. He focused on his balance, his traction, and the security of his tether to the safety railing that had been embedded in the ice after someone slipped and almost fell to their death.

When Sokka reached the clifftop, the position of the sun and a spot on the horizon told him he had made it with little time to spare—perfectly calculated, since he didn’t want to wait long in the cold. The airship approached, filling the clear morning sky with its obnoxious rumble and puffs of smoke, and Sokka sighed as it lowered just enough to roll down the ladder.

Sokka climbed, hoisted himself up into the hold, and found himself grinning.

“Suki!”

He’d been so bummed he was spending the weekend with Zuko that he’d forgotten that he might get to see Suki. It was always hit or miss, with how much time she spent training new warriors in the palace or in the new headquarters on Kyoshi Island, but it hadn’t really occurred to him at all this time. Sokka bounded towards her and swept her up in a hug, ignoring where her armor poked him through his coat. Suki laughed and returned the embrace before dragging him back to the passenger seating.

Sokka couldn’t tell if this ship was the same as the one that had retrieved him last time, but it was certainly more welcoming—as they neared the compartment, warm voices rose over the dull roar of the mechanics.

Rather than a sole prince, the long lounges in the passenger cabin were lined with Kyoshi Warriors. Besides Suki, there were four—they laughed and talked, pausing only a moment when Sokka stepped through the archway. They didn’t bother greeting him officially; Sokka just settled in and joined their conversation seamlessly.

They were talking about fan maintenance, and Sokka had a few things to add—which surprised one of the girls he didn’t recognize, but made Suki nudge his ribs affectionately.

“Once a warrior, always a warrior,” she said. For the benefit of the younger girls, she added, “Sokka trained with us briefly when we were teenagers.” 

“ _Very_ briefly,” said Sokka. “I’m hardly a Kyoshi Warrior. Although, I did look incredible in the outfit.”

“You could still join up,” said Suki. “There’s nothing in the doctrine that forbids men outright. We could design a version with pants just for you, but I’m afraid the makeup is nonnegotiable.”

“Of course,” said Sokka. “But I prefer my Water Tribe warpaint, personally. I don’t think I could give that up.”

Suki laughed and leaned into him, settling her head on his shoulder. Hayumi looked on from the other side of the compartment, her arms folded—but she was smiling affectionately. She seemed to understand that Suki’s feelings for her and her love for Sokka coexisted; Hayumi and Suki were together now, but Sokka was part of Suki’s heart. And she was part of his.

Sokka had been the jealous type, once, but he’d grown out of it with time. He had Dad and Bato to thank for that, actually—seeing Hakoda take a new partner into his heart while still holding Mom’s memory very dearly had helped Sokka understand. Moving on didn’t mean forgetting, and once a good love lives in your heart you can’t really get rid of the mark it leaves.

Suki, Hayumi, and the rest of the girls on board had actually been on Kyoshi Island for the past few weeks, and were flying back to the Fire Nation for the festival—it had only made sense that they take a quick detour to the South Pole to get Sokka.

“When Zuko told me you were coming, he was struggling with the logistics of sending two airships out at the same time—one for us and one for you,” Suki said with a laugh. “As though you needed your very own transport. He felt real dumb when I reminded him that you were barely out of our way.”

“That’s strange,” said Sokka. He chose not to mention that, on the Republic City trip, Zuko had made sure Sokka had not had an airship to himself. He’d gone hours out of his way to fly in the opposite direction of the city, just so they were stuck together longer. And, presumably, so he didn’t have to send out an extra aircraft. It didn’t make sense to Sokka, but very little that Zuko did really made sense to Sokka.

“Not really,” said Suki. “Zuko is sharp and has a lot of fancy knowledge, but common sense? Slips through his fingers all the time.”

Sokka frowned to himself and picked at the seam of his glove in his lap. Her words reminded him of how dense and reckless Zuko had been at sixteen. He tried to catch spiny fish with his bare hands, had burned his tent to the ground because there was one bumblefly inside, and had an awful tendency of jumping into brawls with his crazy-powerful and unhinged family members. The feeling that Sokka’s memories stirred up had tones of nostalgia alongside bitter-tasting resentment, with a dash of being glad that Zuko was still alive after all of it.

Suki was talking again, and Sokka had missed just about everything she said. 

“Sorry, what?” he asked. “I um. You lost me for a second.”

She laughed and smiled at her girlfriend, who had leaned forward with her elbows on her knees to participate. Sokka had heard Suki say her name, so she must have been part of the conversation now.

“I was talking about this time Zuko had one of his moments—he came to the training room to spar and found Hayumi and I wrestling.”

“Really wrestling, or…?” asked Sokka.

“Really wrestling,” said Suki. “But in that dangerous, flirty way. Would’ve led somewhere else if we weren’t out in the open, if you know what I mean.”

“I do,” said Sokka, glancing at Hayumi with a smile. She smirked back at him, as the girl beside her looked pointedly at the glass floor as though it would erase the conversation from her memory—her blush was hidden by her facepaint, but her ears were tinged pink.

“Anyway, Zuko just asked if he was early for the sparring session I’d promised him. He had not picked up on our vibes at all,” said Suki. “But that’s not even the funny part. He was just standing there, double checking that he’d heard me right and insisting that I take all the time I need to finish training. And as he was talking, Ty Lee came in, right? She didn’t even sneak up on him, she said hello and everything. And he practically jumps out of his skin.”

“Whoa,” said Sokka. “ _Why_?” 

“He thought that I was Ty Lee,” said Hayumi. “So, when she walked in, he just looked between us for a solid minute and pointed and stammered. It was kind of adorable, it was like we broke him.”

“Adorable?” asked Sokka, wrinkling up his nose.

Suki swatted him lightly upside the head.

“It was, and you’re legally required to picture it,” said Suki, dodging Sokka’s hand when he made to strike back. “Anyway, he apologized a lot and fucking booked it, he was so embarrassed. He couldn’t even use the makeup as an excuse, because Hayumi was off that day and _wasn’t wearing any_.”

Sokka wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Hayumi without the makeup, actually. He knew what a handful of the girls looked like unpainted, but usually knew them better by their voices or temperament or, sometimes, their hairstyles.

“Hayumi,” he said. “ _Do_ you look like Ty Lee?”

The compartment filled with laughter.

****

Since an airship was considerably bulkier than a sky bison, they couldn’t just fly right up to the royal estate; instead, Sokka watched the clouds disappear through the windowed floor, replaced by a view down into the depths of the airship hangar. It was massive, but instead of sprawling out, it went down, and airships were lifted and lowered within the huge building based on which dock they’d been assigned to. Once inside the hangar, Sokka caught a glimpse of the attendant signaling their airship; as they descended to their station, the hubbub of the hangar began to look less like an anthill and more like a triumph of organization and cooperation between dozens and dozens of people.

To think, if Sokka had arrived with the pomp of a foreign diplomat—as Zuko had nearly suggested, apparently—he would have missed out on seeing this, and instead been dropped off at the Royal Plaza and shuttled through Harbor City and up the caldera in a stuffy little carriage.

There was something to be said about arriving in style on special occasions, but overall Sokka much preferred this. He got a little thrill out of disembarking onto the rattling, suspended catwalk with Suki and Co., listening to them toss banter over his head as he took in the enormity of the hangar. It was wicked cool, honestly; he wondered if Zuko would ever deign to step foot in here.

The elevator system was a blessing, since the stairs looked like something from a nightmare. Still, it was such a long ride down that by the time they reached the exit Sokka was squinting in the bright Fire Nation sunlight. He’d thought the hangar was well lit, but between the time of day and the lack of cloud cover, the contrast was staggering. His eyes hurt.

The Kyoshi Warriors had transport to the palace, but they stood around awhile and debated walking. The path to the palace was not dreadfully long. It wound between a few other royal storage and transportation facilities, and through a neighborhood of boarding houses occupied mainly by service workers. Between the palace, the noble estates, and the businesses in the surrounding city, there were a lot of people living on the caldera that didn’t own any of the fancy property there. For a long time, the people had required written paperwork as proof of employment or summons to even enter the city, it was that elite.

Iroh had quickly lifted that rule and encouraged free movement between Caldera City and its little sister, Harbor City. Sokka was glad for it, not only because it made exploring and shopping a lot easier, but also because he’d hated to see such rigid lines between the people. Even before the war had decimated the Southern Water Tribe’s economy and infrastructure, they had been a community of interdependent members that shared resources, and very few people were held in higher esteem than the rest. Sokka hoped they stayed that way, even as they grew beyond needing each other desperately in order to survive. He liked having nice things to himself, but he never wished it to be at the expense of someone else’s needs.

There had been six passengers on the airship, and four of the girls eventually decided to take the open-air cart back to the palace, Suki included. She cited tired feet, and Hayumi teased her sweetly before turning to Sokka, who felt like he wanted to walk.

“So?” she asked. “Fancy a stroll?”

“Yeah,” said Sokka. “Gotta limber up after being cooped up so long.”

Hayumi laughed and they set off along the dirt road, shifting off to the side as the cart rolled past and went on ahead of them. Suki and the other girls waved as the distance between them grew, and then it was just Sokka and Hayumi. Like with Gi, part of him thought maybe this should be a little awkward—time alone with his ex’s current partner—but it wasn’t really that weird. Hayumi was calm and measured like Gi, but it was less in a stoic or professional sort of way and more like contentment. Inner peace.

They walked in companionable silence, Sokka wiggling out of his warm outer layer early on. Sokka didn’t feel compelled to talk to fill the space, but it was nice when they did talk—about the animals they saw, about Sokka’s friends and the South Pole, about Hayumi’s plans for Suki’s birthday. (On this matter, Sokka was sworn to secrecy.)

He was almost disappointed when they reached the edge of the royal estate, greeted by a porter who had been sent by Zuko to escort Sokka to his quarters. Hayumi walked off on her own, waving to Sokka as he tried to convince the porter he could carry his own bag.

Eventually he lost—this guy was pretty insistent—and followed him towards the East Villa. He moped a little, draping his thick parka over his head to shade his face, but he whipped it right off when the servant approached the house and then promptly veered towards the palace entrance instead.

“What?” asked Sokka. “I usually stay in the East Villa…”

“Are you expecting other guests?” asked the porter, stopping in his tracks and turning to Sokka.

“Uh. No.”

“Prince Zuko has arranged for you to stay in his private rooms, sir. I was under the impression that you always stay with him when you travel alone.”

“Uh,” was all Sokka could say. This porter must have been a relatively new-hire, or he was really good at keeping up the charade and pretending Sokka visited Caldera City all the time. Either way, Sokka knew he couldn’t really correct the guy and that the porter was too stubborn to disregard any of his orders. So, Sokka plastered on a smile. “Oh, yeah. Of course. I’m just so used to visiting with my sister and Aang.”

And so, Sokka followed the devoted porter into the palace and through a set of large doors guarded by armored Fire Nation men, into what Sokka assumed was the residential wing. They went up a grand staircase with an elaborate carved bannister, boasting an intricate wooden dragon around every third spindle, all the way up to the second floor. There, the path diverged—the wing seemed to branch out to both sides of the palace, and the porter turned right, back towards the East Villa. If Sokka could get closer to a window, he’d probably be able to see it.

Another staircase with the same design led them up to another level, where the hallways were a little darker and the ceiling a little lower. Sokka knew there were still more levels above them, but this seemed to be the right place—if the set of doors and guards they passed through were enough to go by.

The porter stopped at the first door in this new, narrower hall, and nodded to the single guard posted there. An extra security measure, but apparently not close enough that they really bothered Zuko. The guard rapped his knuckles against the carved wooden door, causing the flames in the torches on either side to flicker a little—Sokka was surprised they still used real torches in this hallway over electric lights. The lights were not on his mind for long, however, as the door opened and revealed a barefoot and casually dressed Zuko, his hair pinned back from his face but unadorned and his eyes crinkled in a subtle smile.

Infuriatingly, effortlessly good looking, as always.

For show, presumably, Zuko drew Sokka into an embrace that was over as soon as it began—an arm tossed around Sokka’s shoulders, a quick touch to his side. Then Zuko’s warm body was gone again, traipsing back into his rooms. The porter followed, but Sokka’s brain was still catching up.

Finally, he stepped inside the prince’s rooms, and it was even grander than he’d expected. Sokka leaned against the sideboard at the door as he yanked off his boots, depositing them on a mat beside a few pairs of Zuko’s shoes. On stocking feet, Sokka ventured into the room to look around. It was a long space with plush lounges and a hearth on one side, and a low table with cushions on the other. Near the window was a writing desk, overlooking the villas at the back of the estate.

Oh. So the lit window that Sokka had seen the night of the bridal gala, when he snuck across the lawn back to the East Villa, had not been a bedchamber at all but the central room of Zuko’s expansive quarters. He wondered if Zuko had been sitting there at his desk, watching Sokka’s figure cut through the darkness.

Zuko gestured to a door at the end of the room that was nearest to the entrance, directing the porter; Sokka followed his bag into what he assumed was the guest bedchamber. It was richly decorated, with decorative pillows and tapestries and little golden figures lined up on the chest of drawers, and altogether too much for Sokka’s eyes to handle. He poked around the room for a moment, finding a sliding door that led to the lavatory and bath, as well as a little dressing area. Sokka saw in the mirror that he looked rather dusty, and made to brush himself off.

He reemerged into the room to find the porter gone, his bag on the bench at the end of the bed, and Zuko standing at the window.

“You can take a moment to freshen up,” said Zuko, his eyes roving up and down Sokka’s body and his slightly dirty, out-of-season attire. “I don’t mind.”

“Oh, did I get dirt on you?” asked Sokka.

“Why did you walk?” Zuko asked instead of answering, his nose turning up in judgement. Sokka chuckled and advanced, Zuko skirting the edge of the room to move away from him. “The Warriors had transport.”

“I wanted to,” said Sokka with a shrug. “Didn’t answer my question though. Did hugging me get dirt on you, your highness?”

“Maybe a little—why are you _getting closer_?”

“Because,” said Sokka. “I hardly think you hugged me properly.”

And then he made to close the gap between them, practically lunging into Zuko’s space. Zuko yelped and stumbled back, back into his grand little parlor and away from Sokka. Sokka pursued him as he ran the length of the room, his feet smacking against the floor—he was fast, but so was Sokka. He gained on Zuko as he tried to run around the lounge area, catching the prince from behind and smothering his back in dirty, stinky Sokka.

Zuko snorted, laughing even as he kicked and wiggled his way out of Sokka’s grasp; by the time he escaped, all his moving seemed to have made sure he'd get dirt on the back of his tunic. It wasn't much, but it was enough that he’d have to change before they went anywhere.

“You’re a shit,” he said, turning to Sokka. But there was no venom in it, just amused exasperation. Sokka hadn’t expected it, but he kind of liked this new brand of torment that he was trying out. The kind where Zuko thought it was funny, too.

_Who are you?_ Sokka asked himself, but he was kind of too busy laughing at Zuko to really listen to his own inner voice.

The prince huffed dramatically and shouldered his way past Sokka, knocking their sides together unnecessarily. He disappeared behind another door at the opposite end of the room from Sokka’s, muttering to himself as he closed it—Sokka could hear his voice through the door as he continued to speak, but he probably wasn’t meant to listen.

Sokka sauntered back to his room to change out of his own soiled clothes and splash some water into his face and armpits, and also the soft and sweaty place behind his knees for good measure.

When he stepped back out, Zuko was sitting on the lounge with his legs crossed in front of him. He was wearing a more formal ensemble, now, without armor. He'd drawn his hair up into his stupid royal topknot. Sokka almost missed the casual clothes and messier hair. He’d looked softer. More comfortable.

“You tracked dirt all over my room,” said Zuko.

“Good,” said Sokka.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My outline & plans after I finished chapter 6: Okay time for the Cherry Blossom Festival
> 
> Me: *writes everything but the cherry blossom festival*

* * *

Fire Lord Iroh had extended an invitation to afternoon tea, sending the messenger to Zuko’s chambers just after Sokka was expected to arrive. Which, of course, was approximately an hour before he actually got there, having decided to take the scenic route. And then he'd chased Zuko around the parlor and made it so they both had to change, further delaying afternoon tea; they finally sent a messenger ahead for Iroh long after he had expected the reply. 

In the interest of being annoying, Sokka asked questions as they strolled through the halls of the palace on their way to the tea room. He asked about the art and the architecture and what Zuko could possibly have done for fun growing up in such an eerily silent and sterile place. To Sokka’s surprise, and amusement, Zuko had answers—he gave brief histories of the wings they passed through, the paintings and sculptures on display. As they passed open windows, the breeze brought the fragrance of the cherry blossoms into the halls, and Zuko talked about his childhood.

“Before Ozai took the throne, we lived in the East Villa. Ozai, Mother, Azula, and me,” he said. “I remember being happy there, for a time, before the expectations of being a prince caught up to me. I trained and studied most of the day, especially after my father took the throne. But—” Zuko stopped in the doorway of the grand hall, where the gala had been held. The doors to the central courtyard were open, spilling light and stray petals across the floor. “When I could, I spent time in the gardens.”

“Well,” said Sokka. “We’ve already kept your uncle waiting. What's a few more minutes?”

“Hm?” Zuko turned to look at Sokka, as if he’d forgotten he was there. He looked dreamy and distant for a moment, before he seemed to return. “Oh. I guess.”

“Come on,” said Sokka, jerking his head towards the open door. Before Zuko could answer, Sokka decided for him and advanced into the hall and gestured for Zuko to follow. “Iroh doesn’t give a flip if we take a detour.”

“You’ve seen the courtyard, Sokka,” said Zuko, but he hastened his stride to catch up with Sokka as he made his way through the empty hall. Sokka laughed, satisfied with his meddling, and stood in the spot of sunlight coming in from the garden as he waited for Zuko’s dumb royal boots to carry him the rest of the way. When he reached Sokka’s side, he said, “Wow. Look. It’s the same as it’s always been.”

Sokka looked out into the courtyard and smiled—it was the same as it had been when he visited last, though it was not strung with lanterns for a party, and the cherry tree had sprouted hundreds of soft pink blooms. Zuko sighed as though exasperated, but he stepped forward into the yard anyway, a spot of deep crimson and gold against the garden’s shades of greens.

“While we’re here,” said Zuko. “Take a turn around the courtyard with me, Sokka.”

Sokka followed, walking alongside Zuko as he navigated the stone paths. He seemed content, and Sokka had to disrupt it—he jostled Zuko with his shoulder and earned a chuckle. He asked if the plants were edible, earning look of disgust and amusement at once.

As they rounded the pond, their heads turned at the chorus of soft quacks that started up—Zuko gasped happily and crouched on the bank, holding out his hand, gilded rings and all.

A baby turtleduck swam right up to him, nuzzling his palm. Two of its siblings followed closely behind, trailed by their mother, and Zuko showered them all with attention.

“They love you,” said Sokka, bewildered.

“I don’t know about that,” said Zuko, stroking the tiny head of a turtleduck with the back of an unadorned finger. “I feed them sometimes, so they probably come over looking for more.”

“Nah,” said Sokka. “They love you.”

Zuko smiled up at him. _What was that?_ Why did it _feel_ like that, to see this gentle side of the person he thought to be his nemesis? It felt like something pouring into him, something that would feel warm and soothing on its way down—warmed rice wine, like he’d sipped with Zuko after the wedding summit, sitting out here under the lanterns.

Zuko rose to his feet and brushed off his hands on his outer tunic, smiling fondly at the turtleducks, oblivious to Sokka’s crisis.

“You’re…” Sokka began, but he didn’t know where he was going. “I…”

“We should go,” said Zuko. “Uncle is expecting us.”

All that, and Sokka had forgotten that they were keeping the Fire Lord waiting. That he had decided to keep the Fire Lord waiting, to watch Zuko soak up the beauty of the courtyard in the daylight. 

Sokka was quiet, now, the rest of the way to the tea room. They stopped outside the doors and Zuko took a moment to steel himself—he always did, because it had been used for something much more sinister than afternoon tea when Zuko was a child. Iroh had reclaimed and repurposed it as a nice place to take his tea and meet with guests, but it would always be the _Agni Kai_ chamber in some respect. The undercurrent of trauma remained.

Sokka had not heard this from Zuko’s lips, but had connected the dots. Zuko had explained where his scar came from on multiple occasions, and each time gave different details—the time when Sokka really began to understand what happened, Zuko had explained that his father had scarred him for speaking out of turn. Another time he’d off-handedly mentioned that he’d been challenged to an _Agni Kai_ at thirteen. Once, he had simply said it didn’t matter, because he had deserved it.

And every time, Sokka’s blood boiled. He was a little angry even now, not only at Ozai’s miserable, imprisoned ass, but at Iroh, too. Iroh had allowed it to happen, and though he’d nursed Zuko back to health and helped him recover in more ways than one, he still asked Zuko to enter this room on occasion. To return to the place where he’d been burned.

Zuko stood tall and pushed open the doors, already apologizing for being late—

“Forgive us, Uncle. We stopped to enjoy the weather,” he said to the Fire Lord, who sat at the head of the room with his teapot. He bowed his head and smiled at them.

“And like the spring changes the climate,” said Iroh. “Perhaps we must allow it to change our hearts.”

Zuko sighed and entered the room proper, taking his seat at his uncle’s side and reaching to pour his own tea. Sokka followed, settling beside Zuko and waiting his turn. Zuko passed him the teapot, and he wordlessly served himself.

“Sokka,” said Iroh. “Welcome again to our home. I trust your accommodations will serve you?”

“Yes, your majesty,” said Sokka. “Of course.”

“Zuko has told me that after your time in the city together, your relationship is already improving,” said Iroh, looking between them. “Now that I look at you, I think he was right.”

“Uuuuh,” said Sokka.

“Uncle,” scolded Zuko. He turned, leveling Sokka with what was likely meant to be a look of reassurance. “He’s not looking into your mind or anything. He only _thinks_ he knows everything.”

“Well,” said Sokka. “You told him we’re getting along. I guess that means we are, yeah?”

“Um,” Zuko looked away, into his teacup. “Yes. Of course.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” said the Fire Lord. “I’m glad that you are using this opportunity to become closer. You are both very prolific and important young men; your friendship bodes well for both of your homelands, don’t you think?”

“Yes. The publicity is good,” said Zuko. “And—well, it is better that we’ve buried the hatchet now, for the benefit of later alliances.”

“Right,” said Sokka. “Politics, politics.”

As Iroh made small talk and threw out proverbs, Sokka humored him and tried not to let his mind wander too far, lest he zone out entirely during tea with the Fire Lord. But it was bothering him, again, how difficult it was to wrap his head around Zuko—the Zuko that fed the turtleducks was the same person that had almost burned off Sokka’s eyebrows once; the Zuko that knew how to push Sokka to the brink of insanity was the same Zuko that had rearranged their itinerary so Sokka could go to the bar with Teo.

All of those Zukos made up the one beside Sokka now, having confirmed that he was only being friendly with Sokka to quell the rumors that they hated each other, who now wouldn’t look at Sokka directly. None of it made sense. There must have been something that would make it make sense, and Sokka was going to go nuts if he didn’t find it.

Once they left the tea room and wandered back up to the third story, Zuko disappeared into his bedchamber again for the rest of the afternoon, insisting that he had things to do. He reappeared again in the evening before dinner, shutting the door firmly behind him as though to prevent Sokka from seeing inside.

“Hey,” said Sokka, rising from his seat at the writing desk, where he’d been doodling in his notebook. He had also added some funky little letterheads to a few pages in Zuko’s neatly stored parchment stash. “You’re being weird.”

“You always think I’m being weird, Sokka,” said Zuko. “You’re naturally suspicious of me at all times.”

“Well, yeah,” said Sokka. “But you’re avoiding me. For you, that’s weird.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” said Sokka, leaning against one of the lounges. “It’s weird because usually you’re hanging around and being a judgmental prick.”

Zuko sighed and crossed his arms, unfolding them for a second to flick a stray strand of hair out of his face. His topknot had partially unraveled, most of the hair falling out of the back and settling against his neck. It looked almost deliberate, like a half-up style that Suki used to wear when her hair was shorter, but Zuko’s hairpins were still there, loose and lopsided.

“If you must know, I needed some space,” said Zuko. “I didn’t think it would be a problem, since you hardly enjoy my company.”

“Well, uh,” said Sokka. “I mean, I know this whole friendship truce thing is weird for us. But it doesn’t have to be _weird_ weird.”

“I think it’s weird how much you’re saying weird,” said Zuko.

“I think _you’re_ weird.”

“I know,” said Zuko. “We established that.”

Sokka groaned and flopped over the back of the sofa face-first, the metal frame digging into his stomach. He stayed there a moment before hauling the rest of his body over, sinking down onto the lounge and pressing his face into the upholstery.

Finally, Sokka lifted his head and pushed himself up into a normal sitting position. Zuko looked on, amused at the display.

“Okay. What I’m saying,” said Sokka, gesturing with both hands held out in front of him, as though framing the point, “is that we might as well spend time together if we’re going to be here. It’ll be an easier sell if we’re actually hanging out instead of just pretending that we hang out, y’know?”

“Sure,” said Zuko blandly.

“Cool,” said Sokka. “So, after we eat and let our stomachs settle, do you wanna like, spar or something? Maybe hitting each other with sticks will help with whatever dumb crap you’re hiding under that broody face today.”

“Sure,” Zuko said again, but this time the corner of his mouth twitched upwards as though he was trying not to crack a smile. Sokka grinned, satisfied, and got to his feet to clap Zuko on both shoulders before turning again towards the door.

They took their meal in the main dining room, joined by the assorted members of Zuko’s family that were on the estate—his uncle, Lu Ten and Ayoh, and, to Sokka’s surprise, Azula. She was still so very full of biting wit that she brandished throughout the dinner, daring to snark at everyone but Princess Ayoh. They leaned together and spoke conspiratorially, and Azula seemed to light a mischievous spark in Ayoh.

“They get on like a forest fire,” said Lu Ten, noticing that Sokka was watching the women whisper to each other. Azula rolled her eyes and Ayoh pinched Lu Ten under the table. Or, well, Sokka hoped it was just a pinch. The prince yelped and looked fondly at his wife. “See?”

“Dangerous,” said Sokka.

“Of course,” Azula said, leaning on the table and folding her hands. Her nails were long and polished, reflecting the light from the grand chandelier. “My influence corrupts intentionally and effectively.”

She was still terrifying, for sure. But it was a joke. Sokka was at least eighty percent sure it was a joke.

Zuko laughed, just a little huff of a laugh, but it turned her attention to him. Azula systematically unraveled Zuko’s composure bit by bit, but instead of bringing out his anger, she got him to toss banter back and forth with her. She teased and pestered and, finally, as dessert was brought out, she dealt her fatal blow.

“When Zuzu and I were very little,” she said, picking up her spoon to slice into the creamy mouse on top of the layered dessert. “He went through this phase—mind you, I was still small enough that I let him decide what stupid games we played in the garden, sometimes. Very soon I would have none of it. Anyway, Zuzu went through a phase where he liked to make believe he was a turtleduck. Sometimes he was the mother duck and would quack to all the little ones, and sometimes—”

“Azuuuula!” Zuko half-scolded, half-groaned, his face flushing pink. Azula hummed, content to stop there. She’d embarrassed him enough already, apparently. Zuko blustered, clicking his spoon against his plate a few times before he blurted, “Well, Azula used to sneak into my room when she had nightmares and then would soil herself after she fell asleep in my bed.”

Iroh laughed warmly, from his belly.

“She did that on purpose,” Iroh said. “I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t remember,” said Azula, pursing her lips. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if I was the cleverest, most dastardly toddler ever.”

“You were,” said Zuko. “But you had your moments.”

At this, Azula’s eyes bugged out of her skull and she made a point not to look up from her plate at her brother. Instead, she continued on as if she hadn’t head Zuko at all, as if the conversation ended there. She couldn’t do it, Sokka realized. She couldn’t yet handle the soft touch shown in that minute shift of Zuko’s tone when he spoke. Azula was still working out what it meant to be loved.

And Zuko, despite everything, loved her. Sokka recognized it in him, that same affection he himself carried for Katara—it was a sticky and resilient love, Sokka decided, born from wide-eyed awe and innocence. Sokka wondered if Zuko had memories of holding Azula’s even tinier hand, letting her sit in his lap, telling her silly stories. He wondered if Zuko had used them to rebuild his love for Azula, brick by brick.

Sokka couldn’t put his finger on how it made him feel, but his stomach squirmed. Again, he thought about Zuko as this puzzle whose pieces surely fit, but Sokka just couldn’t figure out how. And more and more of the pieces were things Sokka saw in himself, which put him in the insane position of relating to his most bitter rival as though they could be friends.

Not for the first time, Sokka thought that maybe they could.

****

After the dishes were cleared, the family parted ways in pairs. Lu Ten went off with his father to play Pai Sho, and Azula walked off arm-in-arm with Ayoh. This left Zuko with Sokka, as expected.

Zuko led Sokka out of the dining room through a door he’d only ever seen servants use, into a dimly lit, narrow hallway. Sokka grunted in dismay at the dark, cramped quarters.

“What are we doing?” he demanded.

Zuko answered by wrapping a warm hand around Sokka’s wrist and pulling him along. It wasn’t terribly narrow, really, but they couldn’t walk side by side—so Sokka stumbled along behind him. The passage ended at a set of screen doors, which Zuko slid open and ushered Sokka through. The fragrances around him and the clatter of cutlery told Sokka he was in the kitchen almost before his eyes did; Zuko dropped his arm and maneuvered around Sokka to stand at his opposite shoulder.

“An errand,” said Zuko finally, lightly pressing against Sokka’s arm with the back of his hand as he broke away, navigating the kitchen’s bustle smoothly. He didn’t move with the authority of a prince, though a few of the workers looked up from their cleaning to bow their heads to him anyway. Instead, Zuko seemed to know the room and the people, easily locating the person he was looking for and speaking with her in low tones. She handed off a small satchel with a smile, and Zuko thanked her.

He came back to Sokka’s side and reached for his wrist again. Sokka slipped away, allowing Zuko’s fingertips to barely graze him before he withdrew his arm and propped it against his hip. He made it look unintentional, or so he hoped, but Zuko got the message all the same.

“Come with me,” said Zuko as though that had not already been implied.

“Must you be so mysterious?” asked Sokka.

“I’m not,” said Zuko. He brandished his little bag. “It’s grapes and a few green vegetables, alright? And we’re going to the turtleduck pond. But, if you must be so obstinate—go ahead and find your way around the palace on your own. Finding my rooms again shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Nuh-uh,” said Sokka, disregarding the eyes of the kitchen staff on them and winding up his dramatics. He pointed at Zuko with a little flourish. “You promised me a sparring session.”

“I did,” said Zuko. “And I’m trying to keep my promise—but neither of us should attempt to fight before we digest a little first.”

It sunk in belatedly that Zuko’s errand was not an evil scheme but a wholesome way to fill the time; he was not ordering Sokka around or dragging him places against his will, but trying to share something with him. It settled just as strangely in Sokka’s gut as everything else about the day, which he was starting to expect. Zuko was surprising and confusing him at almost every turn.

He deflated, following Zuko back out to the dining room and then to the courtyard once more, where the sky was dimming but was still aglow with reds and oranges. Sokka could just barely see a sliver of the sun over the palace walls, streaking the sky with color. Zuko followed the sounds of soft splashes and quacks at once, situating himself at the edge of the turtleduck pond and gesturing for Sokka to join him.

Sokka lowered himself to the ground nearby, careful not to sit himself too close to Zuko.

“Here,” said Zuko, opening the little bag and letting it pool on the grass between them. “If you feed them, they’ll come to you.”

Zuko plucked a grape from the bag and leaned forward, scooting a little on the grass so he had more reach over the water. He held the grape in his open palm, smiling softly as one of the turtleducklings turned his way, followed by a chorus of excited quacks. They swam over to compete for the grape, nipping gently at Zuko’s fingers once it was gone.

It was adorable and Sokka wanted in. He snatched up a handful of the treats from the bag and held them close to his body, holding his own hand out and clicking his tongue to draw the attention of some of the baby turtleducks. At least half swam to him, their little tail feathers wiggling as they cut through the water and crowded around his offering of a crinkly lettuce leaf.

“You’re a natural,” said Zuko.

“Sure am,” boasted Sokka, plastering on a massive grin. It covered the way his insides felt seeped in liquor when Zuko said it—not that he felt drunk, but that Zuko’s words hit him with a sensation much like the pleasant burn of booze. “I’m winning, see?”

Zuko looked at the swarm of birds around Sokka’s hand, his eyes drifting up his arm to the turtleduck that was craning her neck and trying to grab onto Sokka’s loose sleeve with her beak. Zuko laughed, leaning over and holding a finger out to her and beckoning her his way. He rewarded her with a piece of tomato-carrot.

“It’s not a competition,” said Zuko. “But if it were, as soon as the food is gone, they’ll all come to me.”

“Oh?” asked Sokka. “You said they only come to you looking for food. Why wouldn’t they also think I still had some?”

“Well,” said Zuko. “ _You_ said that they love me. So, I win. I win their little turtleduck hearts.”

Sokka rolled his eyes and kept feeding the turtleducklings from his stash, hoarding the fruits and vegetables so that Zuko had less to feed them. The prince seemed not to notice, or at least he pretended he didn’t notice as he fed them one piece at a time.

Indeed, when the bag was empty and Sokka’s hoard entirely depleted, the birds flocked to Zuko—the mother turtleduck, too, had roused from her sleep across the pond and now sat at Zuko’s side on the grass, quacking at her babies as Zuko gave them each soft pets on their little heads.

“So,” said Zuko. “I promised you we’d spar. I’m honor-bound to keep that promise, regardless of how much I’d like to stay here.”

It was twilight now, the garden lit by the occasional light along the path and whatever managed to spill from the palace windows. The sky still glowed, but it was dusky deep blue with slowly moving clouds of gray. Sokka tilted his head back to look at the stars as they peeked through the cloud cover.

“Yeah,” said Sokka. “Yeah, I think I’d love to kick your ass.”

****

A short while later, in Zuko’s private training room—separate from the Kyoshi warriors mostly because he practiced firebending there as well as other forms of combat and fitness—Sokka selected a long training sword and dagger from the wall, weighing them with his hands, testing how they felt when he turned his wrist. He’d recently started training to dual wield, so he figured who better to practice against than Zuko, who wielded two broadswords.

Zuko had a fancy set of practice swords, it seemed, stored in a special compartment. He lifted them out and showed Sokka the chipped paint on the handles—apparently, he had painted symbols for strength and discipline on the hilts, but they were beyond recognition now. When Zuko noticed that Sokka was spinning a dagger idly in his hand, he frowned.

“Since when do you dual wield?” asked Zuko.

Sokka chose to overlook the euphemism hidden behind it. Zuko probably didn’t even know all the codewords for different sexual preferences; there were so many terms between all the nations that Sokka could barely keep track of them. Not to mention how they overlapped.

“Uuuuh since I learned to fight with both my club and boomerang,” said Sokka, determined to keep his mind on the topic of combat training. “But I started learning sword-and-dagger like. Last year. It was kinda when I was losing my mind over breaking up with Suki, and I needed a challenge to distract me.”

“Ah,” said Zuko. “I remember.”

It was after breaking up with Suki that Sokka had stepped out onto Toph’s balcony to look out instead of in, where all his friends were celebrating and he felt like shit. Suki had planned to wait until the next day, before they left the city, but when she wouldn’t hold his hand Sokka had known that something was up. He’d pulled her aside for the hushed conversation, the crushing admittance by both parties that something wasn’t working. After, Sokka had shaken it off and partied a little, and when he couldn’t do it anymore, he excused himself—and that was when Zuko found him.

It had been another time that Sokka considered what life as Zuko’s friend might be like. He had asked himself if it would be easier had things gone differently, and he’d wondered what he could do to turn the tides. Zuko had found him and offered his ear, offered Sokka a shoulder to cry on—that had to be worth something, right? But then, the next morning, Zuko behaved as though his kindness had been a side effect of his alcohol consumption.

Sokka loudly cleared his throat and did a few more stretches to limber up, especially his wrists—when he only had one hand per weapon, it was all in the wrists. He’d never admit it, but he’d learned that watching Zuko with his swords. It had been a while since he’d actually seen Prince Flameo Hotman in action, though, so Sokka was inordinately excited that Zuko had accepted his challenge.

Zuko secured his hair in a messy ponytail, tendrils loose along his hairline and his fancy hair ornaments discarded. He was stretching his shoulders as he leveled Sokka with a look of determination, with a slanted smile and lifted brow—it was a look that begged Sokka to hit him. So, as soon as they both shifted into their starting stance, Sokka lunged.

Zuko anticipated him, blocking Sokka’s first strike and spinning out, aiming a kick at Sokka’s legs. Sokka had thought ahead and prepared for this, so he jumped up to avoid the attempt to disrupt his balance—Zuko’s leg ended up swiping at the air beneath him. Sokka landed lightly and dove in again, this time with his blades positioned farther apart—Zuko caught each weapon with one of his own, knocking the polished wood together. Sokka withdrew, ducking low and taking his blades with him, rolling out from under Zuko’s swords as they crossed over him.

He quickly rose to his full height again, just in time to block another swipe of Zuko’s broadsword—but the prince still landed a kick to Sokka’s gut that had him staggering back.

“Ow,” Sokka groaned. But he didn’t have time to wallow, as Zuko advanced. He attempted to trap Sokka’s sword with both of his own, crossing them as a barrier between himself and the blade; Zuko’s eyes flicked towards Sokka’s dagger arm before he could bring it around to strike Zuko. The prince contorted his body to swing out of Sokka’s reach, but he lost his control of Sokka’s sword.

He escaped, but found himself closer to the wall than appeared comfortable, especially when Sokka turned on him and charged him again. But Zuko was quick and crafty, and rather than being run into the wall, he used it as a springboard to leap over his combatant—Sokka ended up hitting the wall of the training room instead of Zuko.

He spun around as quickly as he could, taking his crouched stance to his advantage and kicking up at Zuko’s blade as he swung it towards Sokka’s head. Zuko didn’t seem to be expecting Sokka to drop his weight to his hands even as he held swords in them, but it was possible. Just kind of painful.

One false broadsword spun untethered in the air, and Sokka had a moment to get his bearings before Zuko was on him with his remaining blade. Sokka deflected it with the sword and went for Zuko with the dagger, “slicing” at his arm as it tried to block Sokka. He held it to Zuko’s throat, grinning.

For a second, anyway, since Zuko withdrew his sword from where Sokka had parried it, turning it in his wrist to jam the hilt into Sokka’s ribs. Hard.

It went on like that a little longer, Zuko retrieving his other sword and continuing his assault. Their training blades clashed often, but both of them also had an arsenal of clever footwork and a determination to leave bruises.

At the end of it, Sokka lost sight of his dagger and ended up on his back, panting as Zuko pinned his sword arm with one dao and pointed the other at Sokka’s forehead, the one free arm trapped under Zuko’s bony knee. Sokka laughed at his own defeat and at the sloppy state of Zuko above him—sweaty and out of breath, smiling at Sokka through his loose hair. It was kind of glorious.

"I win," said Zuko smugly. "And this _is_ a competition." 

“Okay,” said Sokka, letting go of his sword and turning his hand to smack the mats, palm down. “Ouch.”

“Best out of three?” asked Zuko, rising from his crouch to stand over Sokka. He shifted his legs so that the other man was not just laying between his feet, holding out a hand to help Sokka up.

“Yeah,” said Sokka, taking his hand and letting Zuko haul him up. “Why not?”

****

The next morning, Sokka attended the festival’s opening ceremony with a dark bruise on the right side of his jaw, made sorer by the grin on his face.


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

The first day of the festival was ushered in on Thursday morning, at the gates of the royal grove of cherry trees on the southern side of the estate. It was the oldest crop of sakura trees on the caldera, perhaps in the country, as the war had seen many orchards razed—if not to exploit the space for war profiteering, then to keep something beautiful exclusively for the elite.

Every year since dethroning Ozai, Iroh had ordered more trees planted around the Fire Nation—at Lu Ten’s suggestion, he even transplanted some of the royal trees elsewhere and thinned his own grove. Now, they lined an avenue in Caldera City and another in Harbor City below. The new public parks had several each, sakura petals gracing the grassy hills and falling into the creeks. Each island of the Fire Nation was speckled with pink. 

It had given the land new life, especially at this time of year, and especially during the festival. Like most occasions, the Cherry Blossom Festival had once been an event utilized to promote nationalism, recruit soldiers, and have exclusive parties while the common man worked under the hot sun. Under Fire Lord Iroh, it was a time of nationwide celebration again—all could appreciate the natural beauty of the blossoms and contemplate their brevity; all could participate in events, make merry with their families, and petition the spirits for a fruitful and fortunate season.

As soon as the opening ceremony concluded, Zuko was off—he had to pose for a photo with his family, and then break ground for a tree in the Caldera City Park, and then judge some sort of painting contest with Azula and Ayoh. There were other things on his itinerary, which he had tucked in his pocket to refer back to, but Sokka had not been able to snatch it from his hand and read the entire schedule.

So, in the meantime, Sokka wandered down to Sakura Avenue to marvel at the blanket of fallen flowers that covered the street. Children rolled in the petals and kicked them up with their tiny feet, and couples held hands under the trees, hoping to be graced with falling blossoms on their heads. It was a good sign for lovers, Zuko had said once. It was as much a blessing of fertility as it was a forecast of enduring love. Sokka didn’t really believe that the random pattern of petals departing the trees could really predict anything, much less things as wildly unpredictable as love and relationships. Anyone could stand under a tree and find blossoms in their hair.

Sokka was not so much a cynic as a realist.

About halfway down the avenue, Sokka passed a couple that challenged his approach to the whole cherry blossom wives’ tale. Two young men standing near one another under a tree, their hands brushing discreetly while they stood like they were simply chatting about the weather; an untrained eye might not have seen them as a couple at all. At this, Sokka felt the tiny idealistic part of him take hold—he hoped that they would be blessed. Not because he believed the sakura trees had any power alone, but because they deserved to feel as though their love was a blessing, not something they had to hide.

After appreciating the beauty of Sakura Avenue for the better part of an hour, Sokka made his way to the section of the festival he was most excited about—the long stretch of vendors’ carts and stalls, lining the street from the end of Sakura Avenue to Szeto Plaza.

Today, Sokka wore his distinctive blue—though in lighter fashions than his traditional Water Tribe clothing. He was recognized by enough vendors that several insisted he need not pay for their wares (Sokka almost always declined the generous offer, though he didn’t have a chance when they snuck things into his pockets or shoved them into his mouth.) Others watched him carefully, always outwardly polite but clearly displeased with his presence; he was different, and many people in the Fire Nation had been taught to fear and belittle difference.

Sokka never bought anything from _those_ people. Katara would have been deeply polite and perhaps bought their most expensive item, just to prove something. Sokka usually let it roll off his shoulders, because they weren’t worth his time—though he was angered by the ideologies that made them that way. On that, he and Katara would agree.

Sokka was tucked away in an alley munching on a meat skewer when Zuko popped up at his side again, just stealthy enough that the noise of the festival and Sokka’s own distractedness covered up his approach. He poked Sokka in the arm as he sidled up, leaning against the opposite wall.

Sokka yelped and hacked up a piece of meat before it went far enough into his maw that he choked. Unfortunately, it flew from his mouth and rolled into the dirt below. He glared at Zuko and contemplated picking it up and eating it anyway. He’d put worse things in his mouth.

“Having fun?” asked Zuko. 

“Yeah,” grunted Sokka, biting into a new chunk of meat. “Until just now. Are _you_ having fun?”

“I’ve just come from spending an hour with Azula and Ayoh where all we did was look at paintings and talk about whether they were worth a shiny first place ribbon.”

“So…” Sokka prompted. “No?”

“To me they all seemed very nice,” said Zuko. “I didn’t really get why I was there. I suppose as a tiebreaker—they disagreed frequently.”

“Oh?”

“Now _that_ was fun,” said Zuko, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I pretended I was very, very bored, but really it’s hilarious to watch sweet Ayoh, who wanted to give everyone near perfect scores, in verbal combat with my sister.”

Sokka laughed. “It sounds like quite the show,” he said. “What’s next?”

“A few hours with you, just…doing festival things,” said Zuko with a shrug. He reached into his pocket for his schedule scroll and scanned it once before returning it to its place. “And I’m meant to attend the performance in the plaza at two.”

It was about midday, now. Sokka’s stomach grumbled at the thought.

“Lunchtime,” said Sokka, patting his gut. He was already full of snacks and samples, but he was a hungry, growing boy. Man. Boy Man. Zuko sighed and shook his head.

“You are literally eating right now,” he said. “How are you always eating?”

“Determination,” said Sokka. It was partly his nature, but also a habit born of necessity during his childhood in the freezing South Pole, where his body needed the insulation. On top of that, hunting was sometimes a failed endeavor, so scarcity taught him to eat while he could. In recent years, Sokka’s monthly tonic to boost his testosterone also seemed to make him ravenously hungry. Sokka amended simply, “Among other things.”

Zuko shook his head, his bewilderment clear on his face.

They emerged from their little alcove to continue on, and Sokka noted a sharp increase in vendors trying to give them free stuff—though some of the clever ones seemed to boost their prices for the prince. Zuko seemed happy to pay them, fishing coins out of a little velvety bag secured to his belt. It was very princey of him.

“Has no one tried to pickpocket you in your life?” asked Sokka. “ _Spirits_ , you’re basically asking for someone to snatch that.”

He batted at the bag for emphasis, delighting in the jingle of coins. Zuko, his hands laden with a paper tray of steamed buns, cried out in protest and tried to veer away from Sokka. He did not succeed, and Sokka swatted his money bag again.

“Well, considering that I have also been a common thief,” said Zuko. “I think I would notice.”

“Sure,” said Sokka. “Wait, what?”

****

As promised, Zuko stuck to Sokka’s side for a while. In fact, he steered Sokka a little as they explored the bountiful shopping and eating opportunities. After deciding he didn’t like the sweet and savory filling in his steamed buns, Zuko offered the second one to Sokka. He ate it happily as Zuko found a fragrant booth specializing in different sausages. Zuko bought them each a spicy Komodo-and-hippo-ox sausage, wrapped in fried bread and topped with shredded and pickled vegetables, finished off with a chili sauce.

Sokka had to admit, Zuko had good taste. It was one of the best things he’d tried at the festival.

A few streets down, Zuko changed directions and pulled Sokka down a side street—at first it seemed there was nothing to see there, but then Sokka spotted a small crowd gathered in front of an open potter’s shop. Rather than one narrower door, the whole front wall of the shop slid away to reveal the treasures inside. It was a display room and crafting space, lined with shelves laden with richly colored ceramic pieces that looked to be both beautiful and useful. As a more permanent part of Caldera City than many of the other festival stalls, the shop was certainly high end and on the expensive side; bargains were always easier to find in the lower city.

In the center of the room, two women worked diligently on their inventory, occasionally pausing to explain to the crowd. One was throwing at a wheel, the other painting delicate flowers on a set of plates. It was a demonstration, Sokka realized, and the tarps thrown down around their workspaces indicated to him that they’d simply hauled their equipment and supplies into the storefront for the festival.

He turned to Zuko, who had folded his hands behind his back and, without changing a thing about his royal dress, he had somehow discarded his air of importance. Sokka realized, belatedly, that he hadn’t really been waltzing around the festival like a prince—his clothing and scar were distinctive enough for people to know who he was when they looked, but he’d flipped a switch in his expression and posture. He did not demand attention, the crowds did not part for him; he walked along with Sokka as a man, not a royal beyond reproach.

It also meant that no one looked up from the demonstration to fawn over the prince, no one tripped over themselves to bow, no one dropped everything to serve him. It was interesting, to say the least. Sokka hadn’t realized Zuko could do that, though he surely had, many times. Sokka just hadn’t noticed.

“There are some lovely pieces in blue,” said Zuko, directing Sokka’s attention to a shelf on the left. “If you wanted to bring something nice home to your family.”

“Uh,” said Sokka, eloquently. “I don’t know.”

“I like the seasonal designs,” Zuko went on, his eyes turning back to the demonstration. The painter had finished the first color on the flowers, and was adding a darker pink to make them recognizable as cherry blossoms. “Something special from the festival, you know?”

“Yeah,” said Sokka. “I’ve already bought a few things, had them packaged and sent up to the palace. Uh, except—”

Sokka reached into the collar of his tunic and drew out his necklace, showing Zuko the blown glass bead he’d purchased and threaded onto his own leather cord. It was a small pink sphere, lighter glass marbled in, surrounded by delicate metalwork in the shape of a sakura tree. It clinked against the pendant that Sokka had carved of bone, that had taken forever to get right—the wisdom symbol that Bato had granted him when they went ice dodging on one side, a likeness of his first boomerang on the other.

“Oh, that’s…that’s very pretty,” said Zuko. “Do you, um. Do you like beads, jewelry, things like that?”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Sokka with a shrug. “Sometimes I put them in my hair. Beads, I mean. Usually for special Water Tribe occasions, to like, represent my status and my family and stuff.”

“Oh,” said Zuko. “A little like…”

He didn’t finish, gesturing instead to the gold ornaments in his hair—his topknot was secured with a simple band and pin, but secured into the hair around the bun he wore tiny golden branches bearing pink jeweled cherry blossoms, one on either side of his head and one in the back, connected by a delicate chain. Sokka had noticed them this morning and had been fascinated.

“Yeah,” said Sokka. “Not as fancy, though.”

“Right,” said Zuko.

“So,” said Sokka, clearing his throat. “Cool pottery, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Zuko, glancing around the shop. “I thought you would like it. You like artsy stuff.”

Sokka shrugged again, and Zuko sighed. He set his shoulders back and put his prince face back on, stepping further into the shop. The gathered customers and spectators went silent as Zuko navigated around the potters to speak with the salesperson towards the back. He spoke softly and gestured to a piece that had caught his eye. At the end of the interaction, Zuko deposited several gold pieces on the counter, counting out extra for the trouble of having it delivered to the palace.

“Best wishes and happy festival, your highness,” called the salesman as Zuko stepped back out onto the street. The woman who had been painting had paused in her work, looking speechless, but the woman at the wheel had not looked up to notice Zuko striding through the shop at all.

“We should head to the plaza,” Zuko said to Sokka, his back turned to the pottery shop. This time, as they wove back into the crowd, Zuko wore his elegant princely look and bowed his head to passersby. Sokka wondered if it was easier to get into character than to slip out of it, or if he was preparing himself for his next official obligation.

They arrived at Szeto Plaza with time to spare, and Zuko spoke with nobles who ignored Sokka entirely. He considered leaving Zuko to watch the performance alone, but before long the music started up with a long, sweet note. Dancers dressed in white robes dyed pink at the hems floated into the plaza, men and women alike, their faces painted pale with rosy cheeks and pink lips.

The first dance was serene and twirly, a partner dance that seemed to reference the way that the cherry blossoms fell. The next was more upbeat, utilizing the flowing sleeves and sashes they wore. As Sokka watched, admittedly caught up in the beauty of the display, Zuko hummed along with the music—it must have been a traditional piece that he knew well.

At the end, the dancers bowed as the audience applauded, and Zuko stepped up to the troupe to congratulate and thank them on behalf of the Fire Lord.

“I am looking forward to seeing you perform again at the gala on the last night,” said Zuko to the leader of the group. “I’m sure it will be beautiful. Until then, my family and I wish you health and prosperity throughout the festival.”

As Zuko returned to his side to check his schedule once again, Sokka jostled him lightly.

“What now?”

“Hm,” said Zuko. “Judging the cake contest, next. I’ll see you back at the palace?”

“Hold on,” said Sokka. “Did you say cake?”

Zuko was already striding through the plaza, tucking his schedule away. Sokka hustled after him.

“Zuko, wait!” he exclaimed. “What kind of cake?”

Zuko begrudgingly let Sokka judge the sakura cake competition alongside him and the expert judge, Caldera City’s premiere pastry chef. Enna, the chef, was actually quite young—perhaps nearing thirty, but still young enough that Sokka threw a few well-placed compliments into the conversation. Zuko grumbled about this, insisting they talk about the cakes and not about Enna’s eyes, but Sokka kept on. It was as much to amuse himself as it was for the satisfaction of seeing a pretty woman blush.

While he was at it, he flirted with contestants too. The women giggled and the men—the two that Sokka thought might be receptive to it, anyway—became flustered. Zuko glared at him.

“Excuse my friend,” Zuko said to the group. “He thinks he’s very charismatic, when really he’s just—how are people phrasing it these days? Oh, yes: a _doofus_.”

Sokka could only laugh.

After Zuko awarded the winning cake with a shimmering gold ribbon, commending the baker and making her blush deeply, Sokka slung his arm over the prince’s shoulder.

“Homeward bound,” said Sokka. “We’ve a _gala_ to prepare for.”

He emphasized “gala” in a tone that mimicked the uppity nobles and ministers when they said it. Zuko shot him a look—it seemed exasperated, but there was something else there too. Agreement? Amusement? He shook Sokka off brusquely and eyed the sun in the sky, perhaps calculating the hour—they would have just long enough to freshen up and change for the evening events, the crowning jewel of which would be the Fire Lord’s gala on the restored lawn and gardens around the palace.

Sokka and Zuko meandered back through the festival to return to the royal estate, running into Azula on the way. She walked with them, the hem of her long robes trailing through fallen petals.

“The Fire Nation knows how to put on a festival,” said Azula. “Republic City’s events are so dreadfully boring. I went to a parade that was just industry men and council members in painted carts. I had half a mind to set one of them on fire.”

“Oh, blegh,” said Sokka. “You’d think for a union of all the nations, they’d have some fucking style.”

Azula turned on him, as though she had forgotten he was there, even though he walked between her and her brother. She sized him up, as if with suspicion, before saying primly, “Exactly.”

“Though, you grew up here,” said Sokka, gesturing around them—though they had made it to the final stretch between the festival grounds and the palace, where the decorations and festivalgoers were far less concentrated. “Everything’s a production in the Fire Nation.”

“We have taste,” Azula huffed.

“Sure,” said Sokka. “And money and power. But for all the drama, how much of it was actually _fun_? How much was meaningful?”

This gave Azula pause. She tilted her head in thought, combing through memory—but Zuko beat her in answering.

“Very little,” he said. “Anything festive was just a show of the money and power.”

“Not everything,” Azula said sharply, defensively, hurling a glare at Zuko. “We celebrate our pride in our culture and status. We celebrate…um…spiritual holidays…”

“Exactly,” said Zuko.

“Well,” Azula sneered. “What about Water Tribe holidays? What did you have, then? Some nonsense about ice?”

“Azula,” Zuko warned.

“Um, no,” said Sokka. “We celebrate the summer and winter solstices, some holidays surrounding the moon and stars. A few spirits’ festivals. Up north they have the means to pull out all the stops, but for us, it was always like. Big, boisterous family parties. We dug out the finery that we had left and did up our hair, broke out the good preserves and jerky…” Sokka shrugged. “They didn’t have all this flair, but I loved them anyway.”

“Hm,” said Azula. “So, you really had nothing.”

“Azula!” scolded Zuko once more, actually stopping in his tracks to stare her down.

“No, no, I think I see what she means,” said Sokka, holding up a hand as though to fend Zuko off. “Yes, Azula. In terms of the global economy, we were barely a dot on the map and we really only had the means to trade with each other. Other subtribes, I mean. We lost a lot of people over a hundred years, whether they were taken or killed…we kept what we could, but there are a lot of lost traditions and artifacts.”

“And you’re proud of what’s left,” said Azula, her face pinched like she’d eaten something sour. “Even if it’s…small. Simple.”

“Yeah,” said Sokka. “We’re still trying to rebuild and revive what’s been lost. The Northerners help, but they don’t know all of our customs either. But yeah. Even when the Southern Water Tribe was fragmented and poor, we celebrated how we could.”

Azula hummed in consideration before offering Sokka a curt nod and striding off, reaching the palace walls ahead of them—the gate opened before she even reached the checkpoint for the guard tower, she was so recognizable from a distance. Sokka figured they knew not to keep her waiting.

Falling back into step beside Sokka, Zuko leaned in to whisper, “I’m sorry—”

“For what?” Sokka asked. Zuko looked at him as if he’d grown antlers. “Fine, I _know_ she was kind of insulting me. But I don’t think it was calculated. She was too frazzled by the realization that all your festivals used to be imperialist garbage.”

“Imperialist garbage.”

“Yes, Zuko,” said Sokka. “Keep up. Anyway, as I was saying. Azula, caught off guard by challenging her biases, was kind of genuinely inquiring about my life. Actually, it might have been sweet of her if she’d approached it with any sensitivity or kindness at all.”

Zuko rolled his eyes and folded his hands together under his wide sleeves. The guards had left the gates open for them, so Zuko and Sokka passed through in enough time to see Azula disappearing through the main entrance to the palace.

“She’s not so bad,” said Sokka. “I mean, she’s got claws, and I don’t trust her as far as I could throw her, but…”

“You could throw her pretty far,” said Zuko.

“Yeah,” said Sokka with a chuckle and a showy little flex of his biceps. “I totally could.”

Once they entered the palace, their footsteps were musical against the marble and echoed around them. As they traversed the halls—they occasionally encountered palace staff preparing for the banquet, carrying linens and centerpieces. When they were in groups, they spoke freely to one another until they spotted Zuko; they lowered their heads and fell silent as they passed.

“Huh,” said Sokka the third or forth time it happened. “Weird.”

Zuko followed Sokka’s gaze down the hall as he watched the two young women descending the stairs behind them, burdened with assorted boxes and contraptions.

“Oh,” said Zuko. “Well, there’s a lot of work to do—”

“No, I mean the thing where they suddenly stop talking when they see us,” said Sokka. “It’s not like you’re going to zap them if they look at them the wrong way, or something.”

Zuko turned his eyes forward again. There was something of a wall around him again, a suspicious quiet settling over him that made Sokka want to pry. So, naturally, he did. Carefully.

“Uh,” said Sokka. “Is that something you used to do?”

“ _No_ ,” Zuko snapped. “Of course not. There are just certain rules about what’s proper, and the servants still follow them pretty seriously.”

“Oh,” said Sokka. “Makes sense.”

“I also may have fired a few in my time,” said Zuko sheepishly. “As in I terminated their employment at the palace, not, um. Firing at them. I just ruined their lives and kicked them out on their asses instead, though I don’t think that’s much better.”

“I’m sure they found other jobs,” said Sokka.

“I’m sure some of them fled the country,” Zuko countered. “Anyway, their fear of me is not unfounded, and the people I learned it from were worse. So.”

“Ugh,” said Sokka. “Well, at least most of them are gone.”

“Except for some of the council, but,” Zuko shrugged. “Iroh has to make nice with some scumbags in order to get anything done around here. A necessary evil.”

“No evil is necessary,” Sokka muttered. “But who am I to complain about how the Fire Lord runs his stupid country?”

“Well, the country’s agriculture depends on Minister Fa’s family, and Minister Koze has a hold on most of our transportation assets,” Zuko elaborated. “Uncle keeps them because their loyalty the monarchy is what keeps the nation stable and prosperous—losing certain industries and alliances would be far worse than dealing with a few imperialists on the council.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sokka waved a hand dismissively, even though it kinda made sense when Zuko put it that way. “The tangled web of politics. If it were me in charge, they’d be the ones out on their asses.”

“Well, you’re _not_ in charge,” said Zuko. “Leaders can’t just make decisions based on personal grudges, Sokka. For someone so brilliant, you can be awfully closed-minded and quick to judge.”

“Dude, my mind is the openest fucking mind you’ve ever seen,” Sokka blustered. “And I happen to be great at leading, when I set my mind to it.”

“Yeah,” said Zuko. “Leading the parade of fools.”

“Fuck you,” said Sokka, jabbing his finger at Zuko’s chest, disturbing the cadence of his fancy robes. “Fuck you, and your stupid country, and your stupid fucking family.”

Zuko snatched his wrist and squeezed, a tight, hot grip that had Sokka wrenching his arm away before he ended up with blisters. He stepped away to put more distance between them, knowing he was mostly unarmed but Zuko always had his bending. Not that Zuko would, but he was looking at Sokka like he was thinking about it.

As Sokka shook out his sore arm—Zuko had really only startled him—Zuko seemed to rein in his anger and almost looked confused for a moment, as he eyed Sokka.

Zuko heaved a heavy sigh, like the weight on his shoulders had just doubled. “Whatever, Sokka. I get it.”

“Yeah,” said Sokka, spewing his words with unnecessary venom. It was all stupid. It was so, so stupid. “Whatever.”

Zuko stormed ahead, turning a corner and passing through the guard post outside his hallway. Sokka followed begrudgingly, his arms crossed, the guards surprisingly allowing him to pass. The door to Zuko’s rooms had been left open after the prince, so Sokka slipped through and shut them tightly behind him. Zuko was tugging off his shoes and dropping them carelessly on one of his posh little sofas, frustration clear in the set of his shoulders. Hearing Sokka come in, he turned and glared—clearly, he had more to say.

“What?” Sokka demanded.

“How can we have so much in common, and you still hate me so much?” Zuko demanded. “You’re right—if it were me, if I had taken the throne, I would have sacked every one of Ozai’s ministers and seized their assets. But that’s why it’s not me, that’s why Uncle is the Fire Lord—he holds the interest of the people over his anger at my father.”

“I guess that makes sense, it’s just annoying,” said Sokka, screwing his face up in an ugly grimace.

“I know,” Zuko spat. “I hate them. And that’s why it’s not me.”

“Good?” said Sokka. “Did you want to be Fire Lord, or…?”

“Not really, no,” Zuko huffed, flicking stray hair out of his face with a swift, irritated gesture. “ _Whatever_. We’re not fighting about the council or the throne or any of it. It’s bad enough I have to see them in an hour—”

“We’re not? I guess not,” said Sokka. He sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. He had contributed to this angry fog in the air, too—had started it, even. But letting it burn and fester would be unwise, so Sokka forced himself to breathe out calm, instead of strife. “Look, sorry I got so pressed about the leader of fools thing, it’s just a dumb sore spot.”

“You’re not listening,” said Zuko.

“Because you’re not talking?” said Sokka, his inflection rising unwittingly. He coughed, trying to lower his voice again. “Dude, I’m lost.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” asked Zuko insistently. Again. Sokka hadn’t missed it the first time, he’d just been caught up in everything else Zuko said—which was a lot. “Why do you…you’re friends with Ty Lee, and you practically sang my sister’s praises out there. They tried to fuck you over so many different times, but—”

“I mean, it’s different now…”

“What about me?” asked Zuko. “Am I so bad that Azula gets off easier than I do, in your eyes?”

“No,” said Sokka. “I just…she’s trying. I wanted to like. Recognize that. Can we like, talk seriously for a minute?”

“You don’t think I’m serious?” asked Zuko, his good eye widening dangerously.

“No,” said Sokka. “I mean, uh, yes I know you’re serious, no that’s not what I meant.”

“Is it…do I remind you of…?” asked Zuko, with an uncharacteristic sense of panic tinting his voice. He couldn’t even finish the thought, but Sokka was smart enough that he could fill in the blanks.

“Dude, _no_ ,” said Sokka. “You’re not like the trash that passes for a council, or your asshole father. You’re just an annoying fuck.”

Zuko laughed, sharp and bordering on hysterical. “An annoying fuck? That’s it?”

“No, you also smell bad.” 

“ _What_?” asked Zuko. At this, he just seemed confused.

“Kidding,” said Sokka. “Sorry, I saw an opening, and…uhhh…anyway. I don’t actually…um…I don’t think I actually hate you. I just…you’re annoying. Whatever.”

Sokka shrugged with his arms tucked close against his body, as though that would keep in the strange urge to express more than begrudging acceptance of Zuko. But really, in pretending to be friends, it kind of felt like they were becoming friends. He had actually had fun with Zuko—feeding turtleducks, sparring, walking the festival. It was nice, even with the string of tension that Zuko had pulled out and waved in his face just now. That lingering distaste.

“I don’t know,” said Sokka finally. “I don’t know what we are, if we’re not…if we’re not at odds all the time.”

“Friends,” said Zuko. “Can’t we just be friends?”

“For real?”

“Yeah, Sokka,” said Zuko, sounding exhausted. He probably was, after all of the emotions and arguments and crap he’d cycled through. “Yeah, for real. Real friends.”

Something about it made Sokka’s insides squirm, but the memory of the last few hours, and of the day before, and of their time in Republic City together seemed to overwrite Sokka’s little seed of doubt. Zuko had provided evidence—anecdotal evidence, sure, but evidence nonetheless—of being more than the version of himself Sokka had met years ago. He’d shown kindness and humility and humor and admirable talent, and he’d shown them all before their ruse; Sokka had just been too stubborn to give him credit.

And the credit was due. Overdue, even.

Sokka was sometimes (often) very unreasonable for a man of reason, and he knew it. It was about time to challenge it.

“Cool,” said Sokka after a stretch of silence. “Real friends.”

****

As they prepared for the evening events, Sokka and Zuko took some much-needed time apart. They walked down together and attended the lamplighting together, but parted easily as the festivities continued. Sokka hunted down Suki and spent a little time with her, danced with a few girls that caught his eye—noble daughters, probably—and ate, drank, and allowed himself some merriment. It was almost enough to distract from the loud memory of his argument with Zuko, where they’d finally agreed that the real ruse was the rivalry between them.

Well, Sokka had admitted that to himself. It seemed that Zuko had never really thought of them as bitter rivals at each other’s throats in the first place; he’d just thought Sokka hated him for his lineage. Actually, it kind of stung to think about Zuko’s imagined reason for Sokka’s insistence that they always be at odds. It made Sokka sick to his stomach a little.

Maybe he had associated Zuko with his forefathers’ evil deeds once, when he was rightfully suspicious of the Fire Nation boy that stormed into his home spewing flames in more way than one. Maybe when Zuko seemed to defect from Iroh’s side, leaving with Azula after the fall of Ba Sing Se. But not after watching Zuko limp out of a stolen airship with Suki at his side, scruffy and underfed after weeks at Boiling Rock. Not after he taught Aang firebending and helped in the second invasion. Not after Zuko let on how he’d gotten his scar, and Sokka had felt like murdering Ozai with his bare, nonbender hands.

Sokka had been jealous of his talent and grace, had hated Zuko’s attitude, had made fun of his dainty prince sensibilities and inability to survive in the great outdoors, but he had never thought of Zuko as an echo of the people who’d hurt him. Not really.

Towards the end of the first night of festivities, Sokka found himself in a secluded corner of the garden, tipsy and playing Pai Sho with one of the Kyoshi girls—he thought maybe one of the lovely ladies he’d shared transport with on the way to the Fire Nation. How he’d gotten there was a blur, and his plays were all over the place, but one thing was sure. He was losing miserably.

“After this game,” came a low voice from above. “I’ll take him off your hands.”

“He’s no trouble,” said the Kyoshi warrior, looking up at Zuko as he stood over the board. “I’m hustling him, to tell you the truth.”

Zuko laughed, and the sound was nice. Sokka thought he was nice, now.

The game ended pretty swiftly, the girl—Niva? Nami?—beating Sokka’s ass and getting all the silver pieces he had in his pocket. Sokka was sad to see them go, but he’d had fun. She was fun. And very cute.

He might have said this out loud. Oops.

As he left with Zuko, Sokka talked and talked and talked without saying much at all. The hand on his arm was warm and firm now, like that painful grab from before had never even happened. The bruise on his face from last night was still there, caked in hastily mixed makeup, but Sokka felt a little warm and fuzzy about that one—Zuko had hit him with the hilts of his dao and when Sokka poked it, he remembered the way Zuko smiled when he won a match.

“Stop that,” said Zuko.

“Hmm?” Sokka hummed, turning to look at Zuko as he ushered Sokka’s noodly body through the halls.

“Poking at your face,” he said. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Yeah,” said Sokka. “It’s a nice hurt. Reminds me of, uuhhhh...”

“I don’t want to know,” said Zuko sharply. “Stop dragging your feet like that.”

“Stop tellin’ me what to do, Prince of Farts.”

At this, Zuko groaned, but had nothing else to add. He hustled Sokka the rest of the way to his rooms, depositing him on the fancy bed made up just for him. He sat on the edge of the mattress to tug off Sokka’s boots, muttering something that was lost when Sokka’s eyelids drooped and he dozed for just a few seconds.

He sat up when Zuko rose from the mattress, jolted awake by the way his weight shifted.

“Shall I open the window a crack? There’s a bug screen, and uh, I know it can get a little stuffy in here,” said Zuko, his back to Sokka as he strode towards the windows along the north-facing wall of the bedroom. “It’s much cooler at night in the spring, so maybe it will be a little more like home.”

“Uh,” said Sokka. “Yeah, thanks.”

Zuko did as promised, unlocking and cracking open the window, allowing the breeze to flow into the room. The curtains were too heavy to flutter, but a few tendrils of Zuko’s hair danced on the soft wind before he stepped towards the door, lingering a moment.

“Goodnight, Sokka,” he said, warm and sweet like drizzled honey. Sokka felt it stick to his skin.

“Goonight,” he replied, laying back against the pillows. As Zuko closed the door with a gentle click, Sokka allowed himself to close his eyes again, drifting off to the sound of chattering insects outside and with warm honey sloshing around in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the boys' tempers and feels are all over the place and I'm struggling with characterization but I am just one dumbass please cut me some slack. My brain is rotted. My proofreading cells are dead.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Sokka continue enjoying the Cherry Blossom Festival together, cementing their friendship--for real this time.

* * *

Sokka woke to the smell of seared meat and cooked egg, accompanied by soft voices drifting under the crack of his bedroom door. At once his stomach lurched and grumbled, hungry and nauseous at the same time. The sunlight streaming in seemed to stab at his eye sockets, and since his head was laid directly on the mattress with no support for his neck, he predicted another sort of headache would creep up on him in the near future. In his sleep, Sokka had ejected half of the pillows from the bed and forsaken the rest, his body inching further down so that one of his feet dangled off one side of the mattress.

“Uuuuuuuuugggghhhh,” Sokka groaned, pointedly and loudly enough for the sound to carry, eliciting a familiar chuckle from the next room. Sokka breathed in the sweaty smell of his bedlinens and lifted an arm to haul off the covers, frowning down at his rumpled finery. He’d had to go and get drunk enough that he fell asleep in his nice clothes, and that was his own fault. He was still going to fuss about it.

As he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, Sokka unraveled himself from his eveningwear, slipping his fingers through already-loosened ties and pulling his tiny rope closures free of their loops. The ensemble had been an embroidered outer jacket over a plain, loose suit and his nice Republic City boots; now it was a crinkly, sleep-mussed disaster.

A little out of sorts, Sokka cast aside the garments and wandered the room in his undershorts. He didn’t feel like getting properly dressed before breakfast, so he located the plain cotton robe hung near the bathroom door and wrapped himself loosely in it. Barefoot and bare legged, Sokka hauled his door open and leaned against the frame, eyeing the little dining table and accompanying breakfast spread that Zuko had ordered.

Zuko looked up from the leaflet he was perusing to regard Sokka, his eyes sparking almost mischievously. He’d dressed already, but hadn’t fixed his hair—it was tied in a loose tail at the base of his neck, half draped over his shoulder. Messy, for a prince.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Morning,” replied Sokka. “You’ve brought up breakfast for me?”

“Who said that it was for you?” asked Zuko, crooking his eyebrow. He set down his papers and traded it for his morning tea, taking a sip and continuing to look at Sokka over the rim of his cup. “I imagined you’d need something substantial to fight off that inevitable hangover.”

“I wasn’t that drunk,” said Sokka.

“Oh? Do you remember all that you said to me last night, then?” asked Zuko with a deep, tumbling laugh. Sokka frowned, which seemed to be enough of an answer—he hadn’t realized how much he’d forgotten. Most of his walk back from the gardens was a blur. “As I thought. You were significantly drunker than I was.”

Sokka groaned once more, long and obnoxious, before shuffling forward and settling himself on the cushion across from Zuko. The breakfast looked amazing, and Sokka hoped he’d keep it down—thick cuts of hog squirrel bacon, rolled egg with chili garnish, and a rice porridge with an assortment of toppings to choose from.

Sokka served himself plenty of meat and took a bowl of porridge with fruit and sorghum syrup, digging in vigorously and finding that the filling meal’s weight in his stomach fought against the nausea of his hangover. Zuko picked at what remained of his breakfast, interrupted with sips of tea and glances at his pamphlet.

“So,” said Sokka, wiping syrup from the corner of his mouth. “What’s your schedule today like?”

“There’s a performance of swordsmanship I’ve been asked to attend,” said Zuko. “Masters across the nation selected their best apprentices to perform for the royal family.”

“Any of the masters coming?” asked Sokka.

Zuko shrugged, slipping a narrow piece of paper from between the pages of the pamphlet he’d been studying, handing it across the table to Sokka. His sleeve had a near miss with the open jar of syrup.

“This is all they’ve given me,” said Zuko. “The full schedule of festival events is here,” he tapped his leaflet, “but those are my priorities.”

“Bold of them to assume your priorities…”

Sokka looked over the itinerary with a critical eye, his face feeling more pinched with each new item. Where most of yesterday’s obligations had been contests and performances, a great deal of today would be spent at the Royal Caldera City Museum, first touring the new wing and then attending seminars about the history of the festival and the varied uses of the cherry blossom. There was even time designated for mingling.

“The uh, presentations might be interesting,” said Sokka, though he thought they’d probably be horribly dry. “The most exciting thing here is lunch and the sword show.”

“Well, the temple opening is always lovely,” said Zuko, taking his slip back. “But I can’t say I want to walk Sakura Avenue with Lu Ten and Ayoh, or have tea with the noble families in the afternoon.”

“Being a prince sounds boring,” said Sokka. “I’ll pass.”

Zuko snorted, expelling tea out of his nose and back into his cup. He coughed several times, the attendant that had brought the meal stepping up and offering Zuko his aid and a clean napkin. Zuko wiped his face and blew his nose into the cloth to clear out the tea, and the attendant offered to get him a new cup as well.

“Yes, thank you, Toshi,” said Zuko. “Sorry.”

“It’s no problem at all, your highness,” said Toshi, his voice nearly a whisper.

“You okay, man?” asked Sokka. Zuko nodded, glancing down at his robes—he’d splattered his front with a touch of tea as well, and unlike Sokka, he had already dressed for the day. At least it wasn’t his elaborate formal attire—just one of his still-exceedingly-fancy everyday tunics, that he’d now have to change.

“I’m fine,” Zuko said. “I just—aren’t you already sort of a prince?”

Sokka laughed. “No. A chief’s son has official duties and all that, and sometimes they stay in the business—my grandfather on Dad’s side was chief once, too—but no. I’m not bound to royal life forever, I’m just around until my father steps down or—well, if he loses an election.”

“Oh,” said Zuko. “I knew you had chiefs instead of kings, but I thought—well, Yue’s official title is princess, is it not?”

“Yeah, but the North is a lot closer to monarchy. The seat is traded between their Important families. Like it’s not _entirely_ a democracy,” said Sokka. “There are rarely elections with more than one name on the ticket.”

“Right,” said Zuko. “So you’re not a prince, and I don’t imagine that anyone is offering you princedom, so…nothing to worry about, yeah?”

“I don’t know,” said Sokka. “The earth king has daughters, doesn’t he?”

At this, Zuko sighed heavily and gladly took his fresh cup of tea from Toshi.

Sokka finished his first helping in due time and supplemented it with a few more pieces of meat and some egg, before finally hauling himself up. He’d obviously forgone bathing last night, and sleeping halfway under the covers had left him feeling ripe—so as not to offend anyone, he excused himself for a wash.

The bathroom attached to Sokka’s room was nothing short of glorious, with gilded mirrors and golden hardware. The sinks had broad basins made of veiny marble, sitting gracefully on top of the dark wood of the vanity, which matched the sturdy carved legs of the deep bathtub against one wall. Even the commode had a little gold detailing, a loose rendition of the Fire Nation’s infamous symbol.

Sokka bathed quickly and wrapped himself in a towel, which he quickly traded out for clean undergarments and a pair of light Fire Nation trousers. After some deliberation and rifling through his belongings, Sokka threw on an undershirt with tight sleeves that hugged his biceps, pairing it with a new shirt that he’d purchased at the festival. It was a sleeveless, coral colored piece that ended at his hips and fastened at the front of his shoulder, the closures made of silken cord and painted wooden beads. He had also purchased a new pouch for his belt, in a similar style to the original one he almost always carried—this new one, however, was made of a darker leather and branded with a subtle cherry blossom design.

Satisfied, Sokka reemerged into Zuko’s living chambers to find that it had been tidied carefully in his absence—not only had their things from breakfast been cleared, but the decorative pillows had been straightened and the shoes lined up carefully by the door. Toshi was nowhere to be found, but Sokka wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d made himself comfortable behind one of the wall panels, ready to creep out and clean more after he and Zuko left.

Zuko sat at his writing desk, a letter with rough edges unfolded before him. He had changed into another red and gold tunic with a slightly different shape, and his topknot had been fastened—not a hair out of place. Sokka much preferred the way he’d been wearing it before, even if it was practically bedhead.

“Man,” said Sokka, planting his hands on his hips and pointedly looking around the room again. “That Toshi guy sure is…dedicated.”

“Hm?” asked Zuko, looking up from the letter with a faraway look plastered on him. As his eyes focused and he turned his gaze on Sokka, his mouth tilted just enough to be considered a smile. He hastily folded his letter and set it aside, tucked into a compartment on his desk. It was pointless to try to conceal its contents, as Sokka was a few meters away, but Zuko went to the effort anyway. “Oh, yes. Toshi takes his service very seriously. I’m not sure if he’s very loyal, or just naturally very fastidious.”

“He’ll hate to see what I’ve done to my room, then,” said Sokka. “Maybe we should leave a note. _Enter at your own risk_.”

“What, have you somehow trashed it entirely between now and when I left you last night?” asked Zuko. Though his tone was teasing, Sokka barely processed the jibe—he was too busy processing what Zuko said to play with how he said it. The reminder of Zuko’s hands at his ankles, tugging away his boots, and the way Sokka’s senses had blurred enough that Zuko somehow smelled _and_ sounded sweeter in the dark.

He’d opened the window for Sokka without Sokka even having to ask.

“No,” said Sokka, swallowing down the odd, tender feeling. “No, I’m just a little bit of a slob.”

“I’m sure Toshi can handle it,” said Zuko, pushing back from his desk. “If not, he’ll just have to get used to it.”

“Huh?” asked Sokka, bewildered once again.

“Oh, I just…I thought maybe you could continue to stay with me when you visit,” said Zuko, his eyes falling to the floor around the legs of his desk, his hand coming up to scratch at the side of his neck. Sokka wondered if he struggled with dry skin in the arid climate of the Fire Nation. “Um. When you’re alone, anyway. Or maybe when the others are with you, too. It’s convenient to have you up here, isn’t it?”

Zuko sounded so earnest that Sokka didn’t have it in him to clarify whether Zuko meant that their friends should be given guest quarters in the palace, or if he’d just meant that Sokka should always stay with him. Part of Sokka’s traitorous mind also wanted Zuko to elaborate how he thought the arrangement was convenient—Sokka didn’t want to indulge the thought, as it was far too close to the proverbial gutter.

“Sure,” said Sokka. “I mean, I’d have to talk to the gang about it, but definitely when it’s just me.”

“I really do like having you here,” said Zuko, incredibly candid so soon after yesterday’s argument and the real, genuine truce they’d decided to establish. “It’s…it helps with how lonely this place can be sometimes.”

“Oh,” said Sokka, absolutely fucking stunned. It was one after another this morning, and Zuko hardly gave him a second to recover between the blows. “Yeah. That’s good. Um. I’m glad. When is it that we have to go?”

“Oh!” said Zuko, jumping up from his chair and whirling to look at the timepiece on the wall—personally wound by the devoted Toshi, no doubt. “The museum events begin at nine. I really have to—you don’t have to come, you know. It’s my schedule and you’re not bound to it. You could’ve, um, had more time to enjoy your bath.”

“Nah,” said Sokka. “I’m here a couple more days, I can luxuriate later. I want to see what this museum thing is all about. Maybe even learn something while I’m at it.”

“Yeah,” said Zuko. “Maybe.”

****

The new wing of the museum was not a brand-new construction, but rather the result of a massive renovation that Iroh and his new minister of education had approved years before. The entire facility was subject to minor corrections and additions, sometimes to shine light on the atrocities they had committed and other times to remove the blatant glorification of the war. Among the renovations was the overhaul of the western wing, where it became a dedicated exhibition of international history and culture, including a small reference library. The entire wing was opening its doors today as part of the festival events, but the focus was on an exhibit about seasonal celebrations in each nation—fitting for the spirit of the Cherry Blossom Festival.

Sokka was pleasantly surprised with the exhibit’s inclusion of his own traditions, his own history; as the tour group travelled through the rest of the wing for a glimpse of each hall, Sokka saw more devotion to the rest of the world than he’d ever expected from the Fire Nation.

About halfway through, he spotted the remains of a statue poised in the middle of one of the exhibits; a battered likeness of Avatar Kyoshi. At this, Sokka seized Zuko’s sleeve.

“Does the museum have permission to display all of these artifacts?” he asked sharply. “Or are they stolen?”

“Shh,” said Zuko, glancing at the group of dignitaries and nobles, apparently hoping that Sokka hadn’t reminded them that the Fire Nation had stolen so much from the rest of the world in years past. Or perhaps he just didn’t want to disrupt the tour. As the tour resumed, Zuko shook his head and returned his attention to Sokka, speaking low, “As part of the renovation process, the new curators asked to meet with scholars and cultural authorities from all over. Every item in the collection is now well-documented, and if I understood correctly, the documentation was used to return or rightfully purchase what they could. And there are some new donations and loans, with explicit contracts that will be enforced—it’s better than I would’ve asked for, actually, thanks to the brilliant people that Uncle and Lu Ten appointed.”

“Yeah,” said Sokka, somewhat satisfied. “What do you mean by cultural authorities?”

“Aang for anything Air Nomad, Suki and the Kyoshi warriors, craftsmen, tribal leaders…” Zuko shrugged. “I think Southern Water Tribe exhibits were handled by your council of elders? There were a lot of people involved. A friend of mine that studies in Ba Sing Se came down for a couple weeks with their advisor, and they said it was the definition of organized chaos.”

Sokka found himself smiling at the thought of this building crowded with some of the world’s best minds, arguing and scribbling in notebooks and finding beautiful meaning in pottery shards.

Sokka and Zuko continued on with their group, now taking up the rear. The tour was over soon enough, without much time to explore—instead there was a gathering with refreshments where Zuko pulled Sokka into conversations with cool academics and artfully avoided his uncle’s ministers and nobles. He did wave to a woman slightly older than himself wearing braids wound around her head, though, and Sokka wondered how Zuko would respond to pestering about it later.

He was chronically single since splitting with Mai, if Sokka wasn’t mistaken. Now that they were officially really friends, Sokka could totally take on the mantle of wingman for the awkward and testy prince. It would certainly have its challenges, but Sokka thought himself charming enough to make up for what Zuko lacked. Probably.

Sokka was an independent learner and lectures bored him to sleep, so he skipped the seminars to explore the museum and reference library. He wasn’t the biggest history guy, preferring literature and science and mechanics, but he could find pockets of his interests through historical study. Time got away from him quickly there, as he tucked into records of weapons history from all over, fascinated by the fragmented descriptions and faded illustrations.

Zuko found him there shortly after his second seminar, apparently hovering nearby for a long moment before finally clearing his throat to announce his presence. Sokka fell backwards on the stool he’d acquired, sitting low between the shelves in one corner of the little library; he hit his head on the stone wall and groaned.

“Do you need a compress for that?” asked Zuko as Sokka hauled himself up, rubbing the sore part of his skull.

“No,” said Sokka. “I was promised swords.”

At this, Zuko huffed in amusement and ushered Sokka out of the museum and towards the bustle of Caldera City. From the top of the steps, Sokka could see so much more of the festival at once. Billowing banners and lanterns and sakura-shaped kites sailing through the sky, the shapes of festivalgoers, the blossom-laden trees along Sakura Avenue. He paused a moment to survey it all, Zuko making his way almost halfway down the museum’s steps before noticing he’d left Sokka at the landing.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and Sokka shifted his gaze down to look at the prince. Zuko stood with one foot poised on a higher step than the other, his body turned sideways—just enough to face Sokka. He had to tilt his head up just so, but the angle of the sunlight did not force him to squint; Zuko’s eyes instead opened with curiosity as he regarded Sokka.

“It’s beautiful,” said Sokka. “The view of the city from here, I mean. It was…I don’t think I’ve seen it like this before.”

Zuko bounced up the steps to stand beside him and look out from the same vantage point, so Sokka watched his face as he took it in. It was much like how he’d looked at Sokka a moment ago, openly and with the intent to understand—and then his expression slid into soft contentment.

“You’re right,” said Zuko, turning to meet Sokka’s eyes. “I don’t think I’ve seen it like this before, either.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zuko said, nodding and looking out again, the sun on his cheeks bringing a flush to the surface of his skin. “I, uh…it gets prettier every year, with all the restorations. It’s brighter. Warmer.”

“It’s always been warm, here,” said Sokka, smacking his lips at the reminder that his skin was hot and sweaty and his mouth was dried out by the heat.

“No, I mean…I meant that it’s more habitable,” said Zuko. “It’s a place I want to be.”

“Oh,” said Sokka, thinking of home. The South Pole was always cold, but it made Sokka feel warm to be with his people, wrapped in furs. “I get it.”

Zuko smiled softly as he took one last look, and then turned to Sokka once again.

“The swordsmanship demonstration begins shortly,” said Zuko. “I’d rather not be late.”

And then he was hustling down the stairs again, this time with Sokka at his back.

They were late to the demonstration, but only barely.

****

Between a storefront and a restaurant halfway to Szeto Plaza, there was a patio dining area that had been quickly taken over by festivalgoers and the various snacks they’d purchased from vendors. After spending a while torn between which dishes to try for lunch, Zuko decided that they didn’t really have to decide—there was enough money in his posh little pouch for pretty much anything they wanted. So, laden with paper dishes covered in food, Sokka and Zuko found an empty table and settled under streamers and lanterns.

It was quite the spread and, without even really discussing it, they agreed to share everything. It led to bumping elbows and knees, and a few moments where Zuko nearly dipped his trailing sleeves in sauce, which made Sokka laugh.

“Stooop,” Zuko protested when Sokka dissolved into laughter once again. “It’s not funny, these are velvet trimmed—look!”

Zuko waggled the end of his wide sleeve at Sokka, accentuating his point. Sokka shook his head, still chuckling.

“Just roll them up, idiot,” he said. Sokka scooted his chair along the tile a little, creating a scraping sound, and held out his hand for Zuko’s arm. “Here, let me show you.”

Zuko heaved a sigh and waved him off, pushing his sleeves up himself and folding them in a way that kept them tighter against his bicep. He looked a little silly, but it did the trick. Sokka kept his chair there, just in case Zuko’s way failed or something.

When they had eaten the last of their sticky chicken wings and fried wontons, Sokka licked tangy sauce from his fingertips with a brand of determination he saved for the best-tasting things. Zuko grimaced at him, probably judging him for the crass nature of sucking his fingers in public. It only made Sokka laugh at him more—in part because the impression was totally skewed by the streak of sauce leading from the corner of Zuko’s mouth and across his chin.

“You’ve got a little something on your chin,” said Sokka, reaching again—but Zuko wiped it off with the napkin he’d been harboring in his lap. Sokka closed his hand and brought it back into his own space, scratching the back of his head instead. “Yeah, you got it. All gone.”

“Thanks,” said Zuko, unfolding his sleeves so that they returned to their natural shape. “So, I’m supposed to meet my cousin soon…”

“Oh,” said Sokka. “Yeah, I’ll just…I’ll busy myself one way or another. Though I should probably cool it on the shopping.”

Zuko pushed his chair back from the table and stood, plucking his schedule from the front of his tunic, glancing over it. He hummed in consideration, scratching a spot near his hairline—a few hairs came loose of his tightly pulled topknot, falling against his forehead.

“Just as I thought,” said Zuko. “There’s no time here for what I want to do.”

“I mean, maybe you’ll have some more free time tomorrow?” asked Sokka, leaning his elbows against the table. The legs were a tad uneven, so it wobbled under his weight. “There can’t be that many more events that they need you for. You’re just one prince—there’s another one. And two princesses.”

“You think I can be so easily replaced?” said Zuko. “Rude.”

“Well, not by Azula. Or by Lu Ten or Ayoh alone…but maybe both of them?” Sokka suggested. “Or you could hire a decoy, throw on some stage makeup. Like Ember Island all over again.”

“Ugh. My scar was not on the wrong side—the other Zuko’s was!”

Sokka laughed. “You sure?”

“Fuck off,” said Zuko. He crumpled up his schedule and tossed somewhere into the array of garbage scattered across their table. “Anyway, what I was actually getting at is _fuck the schedule_.”

“Huh?”

“They can spare me. They can spare me for all of it, really—I’m just the second in line,” said Zuko. “Plus, the vendor I need to see is heading to another island for the remainder of the festival, and I’d rather not miss him.”

“Oh,” said Sokka. “We’re playing hooky?”

“No,” said Zuko. “I’ll send word to Uncle and Lu Ten that they won’t see me this afternoon. Probably not this evening, either, for that matter—we might as well make the most of our time in the lower city—”

“Hold on, we’re going to Harbor City?” asked Sokka. “The food there is incredible, and I’ve never seen their version of the festival. Well, I barely saw this one before yesterday, but…you know what I mean.”

Zuko sighed, but he looked amused. He began to clear the trash from the table and Sokka helped, stacking the trays and bowls towards his side. Sokka stood from his chair and walked with Zuko to the bin near the front of the patio, depositing their garbage inside, including the schedule. As they slipped back into the crowd, Zuko was noticeably lighter on his feet—both his plans and that princely attitude cast aside.

He wove through the festivalgoers swiftly, and Sokka laughed and quickened his pace to catch up to him. He fell into step with Zuko, crossing his arms over his chest and bumping shoulders with him playfully. Zuko chuckled awkwardly and bumped him back.

_What was with Sokka today?_ Less than a day of friendship and he was already trying to touch Zuko in some way practically every ten seconds. He’d always known himself to be tactile with people he cared about, friends and family and lovers alike, but this was kind of ridiculous.

They navigated through the festival grounds, finally passing Sakura Avenue and the flags that had marked the road closed before setup began. Leaving behind the festival, they turned a corner and came right up to a postage center, an open-air shop filled with squawking, shitting messenger hawks and stacks of empty boxes. Sokka followed Zuko through the doorway, directing his attention to the different colors of sealing wax for sale while Zuko approached the counter.

Zuko bought some paper, wrote quick messages, and rented two birds to carry them. He sorted it all out and then tugged Sokka back out of the shop before he could buy wax. He didn’t need it, anyway.

They took a cab down to Harbor City and tumbled out of it, right onto the festival grounds; Zuko gave the ostrich horse a scratch near his beak before the driver led it away.

If Sokka thought that Caldera City’s festivities were lively, Harbor City was something else entirely. There was far more space to fill in the lower city, not limited by the walls of the caldera, and every caliber of vendor was welcome here instead of a carefully vetted list. The crowds were bigger, too. As they advanced, an arched sign pointed them through to the streets lined with food and souvenirs, and colorful banners drew attention to other attractions with bright arrows—a playground, a sculpture walk, a concert stage, and Harbor City’s very own Orchard Street. 

“Yeah?” said Zuko, nudging Sokka’s shoulder.

“Huh?” Sokka turned, feeling like he was still sparkling with excitement.

“I thought you’d like it here,” said Zuko. “It’s…boisterous. Eclectic. It’s very you.”

“I’m boisterous and eclectic?” asked Sokka, knowing full well that he was those things and more.

Zuko just laughed and tugged him along into the throngs of people; Sokka wasn’t wearing sleeves for him to tug on, so he just shifted his grip up and down Sokka’s arm, adjusting it when they made turns or dodged other festival patrons. Zuko’s hands were broad and dry, but beneath them Sokka’s skin gathered sweat—Zuko said nothing about how damp Sokka was. He seemed like he didn’t even notice, moving through the festival with such determination.

“What kind of vendor has you so dedicated to hunting them down?” asked Sokka over the sound of the hubbub around them.

“Oh,” said Zuko, glancing over his shoulder. “His name is Yotaro, and he deals rare texts that he finds on his travels. I—well, I wrote Kozuma Rao, from the Republic City Current—” Zuko paused as a man walked between them, oblivious to where he and Sokka were tethered together. Zuko let go before the man ran right into their arms, allowing him to pass through without consequence. Sokka wondered idly why Zuko took no security with him around the festival, and wondered if they were just dodging the Royal Guard as well as Zuko’s princely duties. “I wrote Kozuma about a source he had from the library opening, this Yotaro man, and Kozuma put me in contact with him.”

“Awesome, man,” said Sokka. “But why?”

“I’m looking for a book,” said Zuko.

“Aren’t we all?” Sokka teased. Zuko just looked puzzled, which made Sokka laugh and shake his head. “Okay, I’ll bite. Any book in particular?”

Zuko didn’t answer, instead turning his head and deciding in the next moment to veer left, towards the row of stands on that side of the street. He hastened his pace just a little for the last stretch, coming to a stop in front of a rickety-looking cart propped up with a rock—Sokka’s eyes lingered on what appeared to be a damaged back axle. The cart had attached tarps that were rolled up to reveal sloping stacks of books and scrolls and loose parchment manuscripts bound together with cords and strings. There were so many things to smell at the festival—food and flowers especially—but Sokka wanted to shove his nose into this treasure trove of old book smell.

He slipped away from Zuko at once and rounded the cart, digging through the piles. They did have some system to them, but it wasn’t one that Sokka could fully decipher—he guessed that they were sorted by configuration and worth, rather than era or genre. He distantly heard Zuko say something, but figured out that it was to the vendor and not to Sokka, so he returned to his devotional.

Of sniffing old paper and glue and touching rough leather edges and—

“You read it with your eyes, not your nose,” said Zuko, catching Sokka with his face buried between the pages of a bound military history text. As Zuko heckled him, Sokka spotted the vendor—a younger man than he had expected—sifting through his piles in the shade of a broad hat.

“I just like the smell, Prince Ducktail.”

“That’s—that one just doesn’t make sense. Could this glue make you high?” asked Zuko, his tone light as he plucked the volume from Sokka’s hand and gave it a careful sniff himself. “I don’t smell anything.”

“The glue won’t make you high,” said the other man, Yotaro, who Sokka had somehow forgotten in the span of a few seconds. He appeared at Zuko’s shoulder with an armful of books with wooden covers and open spines. Sokka could see a little deterioration in some of the binding thread and a few covers, but in general they were in good shape. “I’ve found them, your highness.”

“Oh, lovely,” said Zuko, turning to examine the first book he could reach from Yotaro’s armful. He smoothed his fingers over the cover, sliding over the grooves of the characters that had been carved or branded into the thin sheet of wood. “Yes, yes. I count…seven volumes? Is that everything?”

“Yes,” said the dealer. “I’ve read through myself and compared each song to the copy kept at Ba Sing Se’s literature department.”

“Very thorough of you,” said Zuko, businesslike to match Yotaro’s tone, but there was a little awe in the way he handled the book in his hand. “Have you managed to find any theatrical works, like I asked? In addition to the epic.”

“An epic,” inquired Sokka, poking his nose into the transaction where it didn’t belong. “Like _King of the Skies_?”

“It is _King of the Skies_ ,” said Yotaro, peering at Sokka through tiny, tiny spectacles. “You’re of the Water Tribe—you know about ancient Fire Nation poetry?” 

“Only what I’ve read when I visit,” said Sokka. He turned to Zuko, jostling his shoulder. “Dude, you didn’t tell me it was rare. It doesn’t _look_ rare.”

“What does a rare book look like, Sokka?” asked Zuko. “Spirits help me. Yes, it’s rare. Many copies were destroyed or altered before and during the Hundred Years’ War. It’s not extinct by any means and remains culturally significant, but it’s not easy to find an unaltered version.”

“Oh,” said Sokka. “Uh, I’m gonna…look at some stuff over there, now.”

Sokka slipped away—only to the other side of the cart—and paged through a few books while Zuko spoke in hushed tones with Yotaro about a selection of bound plays and some scrolls bearing scripts to those lofty dramas Zuko liked.

Sokka had seen that on the get-to-know-Prince-Zuko list that had been sent to him after the wedding incident. He hadn’t meant to read any of it, but he caught a glimpse all the same—it made sense, lining up soundly with the memory of how critical and intense Zuko had been about the Ember Island Players’ performance in the days leading up to the Sozin’s Comet battle.

Though, Zuko had always been intense, then. Hours before the play, Zuko had literally attacked Aang with fire hands and ruined Sokka’s sand sculpture of Suki, which was so very unnecessary.

His attention drifted away from Zuko and the bookseller, down to the broken wheel situation he’d noticed before. One wheel had come free and the beam between them appeared crooked, so Sokka bent to further investigate.

The wheel was easy to reattach, once he found the grooved screws were still in good condition—it seemed the wheel had been removed carefully and intentionally because of a loose spindle—which easily popped back into the slot and would stay long enough for Yotaro to find some wood glue. Sokka used the tip of the small knife he carried to turn the screws and set on to the axle. Here, there was a long screw entirely missing and a stabilizing piece of wood had been damaged.

“What are you doing?” asked the bookseller, suddenly and with a modicum of alarm. Sokka startled, hitting his head on the underside of the book wagon.

“Oh, uh. Seeing what’s wrong with your cart,” said Sokka. “I saw a smith that could forge a new screw down the way, you’re just missing one—you’ll have to pull out another to match, though. And uh, there’s a piece that should be replaced. The woodworker might be able to spare something passable, and also some glue to secure this part of the wheel. Uh, I remember Prince Zuko said you were leaving tonight, so…”

“Oh,” said Yotaro. “Would you like a book?”

“Uuuh,” said Sokka. “Sure, I’d _like_ one, but I don’t—”

“Sokka, I’ll pay—” Zuko interrupted.

“No,” Sokka insisted. “It would take me forever to pick, anyway.”

“Sokka,” Zuko said firmly.

“Oh, no,” said Yotaro. “I meant a complimentary book. For your much-needed advice.”

Sokka blinked up at him, taking a moment to process the words. He wrapped his head around them, understood them, but then still couldn’t fully grasp it. He didn’t know what to make of the man himself, much less his offer. Upon meeting Yotaro a few minutes ago, Sokka had been in awe of his well-kept collection and slightly unnerved by his bland way of speaking, looking, acting…he was odd. Sokka didn’t have anything against odd, but each kind of odd turtleduck took a little getting used to.

An odd turtleduck. Like Zuko.

Still, Yotaro seemed particular and pragmatic—giving away a book for free didn’t seem like him. On the flip-side, Sokka had received preferential treatment a few times for his connection to the crown already, but this offer stood out in that it was almost transactional. Sokka had done something out of kindness (also out of curiosity and maybe some boredom) and the bookseller wanted to give him something in return.

He eventually rose to his feet and dusted his clothes off, looking through the books in something of a daze. Zuko hovered, his purchases sitting on a small table where Yotaro seemed to keep his earnings and his ledger, watching Sokka move through the stacks. Towards the bottom of a pile, almost to the very bottom of the cart, Sokka found something that piqued his interest.

“Oh,” said Zuko when he saw the cover. “Get it.”

Yotaro wrapped up their order and sent his apprentice to deliver it to the palace, and Zuko paid a little extra for the trouble. That, and the sheer weight of the books—Zuko’s seven volumes of _King of the Skies_ , two small bound plays, and Sokka’s collection of stories that seemed to have old Water Tribe tales within. It was transcribed in the last seventy years or so, according to Yotaro’s documentation and the scant introduction on the first page, but the scribe was not the author; more of an audience. These were oral stories collected and written down. Oral stories that might have been lost if not for this unremembered stranger.

Zuko walked Sokka to an open space within earshot of the concert stage and chose a bench near a shedding sakura tree. Sokka had followed, trying to shake himself out of his head and as a result, proving to be quieter company than usual.

Zuko seemed to enjoy the quiet, perhaps misconstruing it as companionable and not because Sokka was caught up in the weirdness of the encounter with Yotaro the book man.

“Uh, why did you—” Sokka began, just as Zuko started to speak.

“Would you like to—” When Zuko realized that Sokka was talking, he stopped and tilted his head to listen. “Sorry. Go on.”

“Why did you by another copy of _King of the Skies_ if you already have one?” asked Sokka, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He had a feeling, but he kind of hoped that he wasn’t right.

“Well,” said Zuko, drawing out the word and looking around the green space between them and the concert stage, where a delicate ensemble of wind and string instruments played. It felt distant, even if it wasn’t really that far away. “I sent Toshi to retrieve my mother’s copy from the East Villa, and he couldn’t find it. So I set out to replace it—I’m very fortunate that Yotaro found a copy and that he came to Harbor City for the festival.”

“Oh,” said Sokka. “Zuko…”

“I have an abridged copy, but I don’t know if—I don’t reread it all that often, but I know that you like it,” said Zuko. “So I wanted to have an unaltered version available to you when you visit.”

Instead of finishing his confession, Sokka just blurted, _“What?”_

“Are you drifting? I can give you a good slap, if you think that will keep you engaged?” Zuko said with an endearing little smile. “I said that I bought the new copy—well, it’s very old, but you know what I mean—so that you could read it while you’re here.”

“But…but I took your mother’s copy!” said Sokka.

Zuko’s smile flattened. “You stole my mother’s copy of an ancient Fire Nation text? An incredibly valuable book that belongs in the East Villa?”

“Well, you’re the one who sent for it! You wouldn’t have known it was gone if—” Sokka faltered, and Zuko dove in to fill the space.

“I sent for it because I wanted _you_ to have access to it,” said Zuko. Fuck, he sounded kind of angry, and Sokka honestly wasn’t surprised—Sokka had stolen his book. His mother’s book. But still, it sucked to be right back where he started, the target of Zuko’s ire. “And you had it all along! This is unbelievable. I just spent a great deal of money on a very rare book, because I thought I lost mine, and you were just…standing there not telling me that you’d _stolen_ it.”

“I wanted to finish reading it,” said Sokka. “I know that’s dumb, I just thought no one would notice. It—I didn’t realize it was rare or valuable or anything, I just like it.”

“Unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sokka. “I didn’t know. And, yeah, in some way it was kind of a _fuck you_ at the time, but I’m trying to mend the fence, now, okay? I swear all malicious intent has been left in the past.”

Zuko sighed and folded his arms, sinking down against the bench a little in a very unprincely way.

“It’s kind of funny,” Zuko said after a long, mildly terrifying pause. “I have an extra, now. I guess that means you can keep one, yeah?”

Sokka shook his head. “I couldn’t.”

“Just…keep it. I want you to have it,” said Zuko. “I—it’s nice to have something in common with you, something that’s not just. I don’t know, being children of war and mutually annoying the shit out of each other.”

“Oh,” said Sokka. “I…uh…but your mother’s book?”

“It’s not really hers anymore,” said Zuko, lolling his head towards Sokka, his hair pushed up in a funny way by the backrest of the bench. “It’s mine to give. She left it for me to have—I’ve spoken to her about it since we reconnected. Please, Sokka, just take it. Keep it. Whatever.”

It wasn’t worth fighting over. It was just a book. A pretty significant book, apparently, but still just a book. And Zuko had another, now.

“Okay,” said Sokka. “Thank you.”

“Anything for my best friend,” said Zuko with a smirk, lifting a hand to brush errant flower petals from his shoulder. 

****

The rest of the festival weekend passed quickly, and Zuko spent a great deal of it dodging his schedule—or rewriting it completely in some cases, which he insisted to Sokka that he had the power to do. He spent the time with Sokka, going to events they were both interested in, especially in Harbor City. Like Zuko had predicted, Sokka was fonder of the everyman’s festival than the luxury of Caldera City’s.

In Harbor City the music was always playing, the dancers performed with more life in them, and the art was not limited to refined tastes—it was colorful and brash and had moments of tragedy and triumph, just like art was supposed to. Sokka wove chains of wildflowers and whole cherry blossoms, struggling to connect them until a little girl of five stepped in to show him the ropes—he gave her the first crown that he made, and then made a miniature version to wrap around the base of Zuko’s topknot. The next day, they folded paper into origami sakura flowers, some of which had love notes or blessings written inside. Zuko even made sure to bring Sokka to a poetry reading—and, recognized by the crowd, they ended up having to judge an informal contest. But it was _fun_.

Not that the upper city didn’t have it’s share of fun, of course—when Zuko and Sokka rode back up to the caldera on Saturday evening, they encountered Lu Ten and Ayoh drinking sakura-infused plum wine with an off-duty Suki and Hayumi. They joined in and danced down Sakura Avenue as most of the festivalgoers headed home and the stalls were closed for the day.

The closing ceremonies and final ball on Sunday felt a little more like chores, but at the end, as Sokka stumbled into his room—tipsy but not nearly as much as before—he felt warm and happy and glad that he’d accepted Zuko’s invitation. It was almost more than a pleasant surprise; it was something of a whirlwind of a weekend, filled with soft pink and more laughter from Zuko than Sokka ever thought he’d hear.

They parted with an awkward handshake before Sokka boarded a steamship back to the South Pole. Sokka had kind of wanted it to be a hug.

When he arrived at the Southern Water Tribe capital after the thirty-hour trip, he trudged home and sank into the furs on his bed, almost dozing off—but then Katara pounced.

“Letter for you,” she said, letting herself into his room and crawling up onto his bed and over his body, kneeing him in the side on her way. It was pointless—she could have just rounded the bed. But she did it to be a pest. He’d missed her, even if he wanted to push her to the icy floor right now. “Arrived this morning.”

“The fuck?” asked Sokka, of no one in particular, as he plucked the letter from her hand. It was a small, folded piece of parchment with Zuko’s seal. “I just talked to him, what does the bastard want now?”

“I don’t know, but I’m dying to find out,” said Katara. “Maybe he decided he never wants to see you again.”

“No,” said Sokka.

“It could happen,” said Katara. “After four days with you? Trust me. It could happen.”

“Shut uuup,” said Sokka, opening up the fold and tearing the seal at a jagged diagonal. He thought maybe the paper smelled faintly of Zuko, like soap and smoke.

_Sokka,_

_Thank you for coming. Genuinely and completely. Treating you as my friend is so much easier than only pretending—to be honest, I’d been hoping to set aside the silly rivalry since long before the Cake Incident._

_I hope to meet up with you again soon. Perhaps sometime after your Full Moon Festival? I’ll speak to Uncle about it, to see where my responsibilities lie in the upcoming months. I do think we’ll have to follow the schedule we’re given from now on. Though there’s always room for improvement._

_You’ll have to tell me about your book of stories. I’m very intrigued._

_I’ve already started reading one of the plays I bought, and there is a character who reminds me of you—he’s called Kazu. The resemblance is mostly in the conversations he has with his mount, a puma goat. It’s like how you talk with Appa and Momo. He makes me laugh, just like you do._

_Your friend,_

_Prince Zuko_


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

_Your royal highness,_

_It’s the New Moon Celebration. Not the “Full Moon Festival.” Whatever that is._

_I was going to say that if we had a festival every time there was a full moon, we’d barely have any time between them since that’s every month, every single cycle. I thought it was such a burn, until Katara pointed out to me that the new moon also happens every month._

_And now, I’m sure, you’re laughing at me. Laugh it up, hothead._

_On the subject of the New Moon Celebration, we leave in the morning by boat. So, if you are pressed to reply, send your messenger hawk North; the journey itself is a few days both ways, for a celebration concentrated mostly into twenty-four hours. Seems like overkill, almost._

_But as the South Pole develops, there’s murmurs that we might start switching it up. We’ll travel up to the North one year, and they have to come to us the next. I don’t know how it’ll go over with my own people, much less what the North will think, but I could definitely pass up spending a week on a boat. Last year we just took Appa, but Aang has him (as always…it is unfortunately not a shared custody situation, no matter how many times I ask) and he’s meeting us there._

_I’m bringing my book to fill the time, so I’ll let you know what it’s like. Tell me more about this Kazu guy, so I can see if he stole my whole personality._

_-Sokka_

****

_Chief Junior,_

_I don’t know your title. Is it just Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe? Usually you don’t even use that to sign a letter, but I find it very appropriate. Familiar. You’re just Sokka, in a good way—the best way. I like just Sokka just plenty._

_My mistake on misnaming your holiday; I know it has a great significance in the relationship between the Northern and Southern Water Tribes. The name slipped through my fingers, and also perhaps through the gaps in my education. I must take another trip to the museum in the city. Perhaps you’ll come with me, and you can tell me how your family and sub-tribe celebrated. I’ll try my best to do the same, but I can’t say we had very many unique traditions. Or familial bonding, for that matter._

_On Kazu: Sokka, I must remind you that this play is hundreds of years old. Kazu would not be the plagiarist here. But I could not accuse you of copying your entire personality from a drama set centuries before you were born._

_The story is about Kazu and his brother Matsu traveling to the Western Air Temple to ask the nomads for a blessing on the family, because their sister is with child and is very sick. It’s also a love story between Ryu and one of the nuns. Kazu is written as the comic relief, but he has his poignant moments as well. There is a scene where he dresses up as an old man and attempts to distract the other airbenders so Immi, the girl his brother loves, can sneak out of her quarters for a romantic stroll. It’s hilarious, but amidst the jokes Kazu is so wise—he says, “Oh, we are not old. This white beard and these aching hands will pass swiftly; to the world I am a child. A tiny new light in the sky. Beneath us thrums the ancient earth, and in our hearts sing the spirits that made time. To the everything, we are each one word in the poem that does not end, and each word has its time in the candlelight.”_

_There are so many more, but if I go on I’ll send you practically the whole play. I don’t want to spoil the reading for you. Or the viewing—I think perhaps I’ll commission a troupe to perform the play, and we can see it onstage. This play fell out of circulation during the war for obvious reasons, but I’d love to see it brought back for its message of love and unity, and hopefully some kernel of airbender culture._

_I wish you a pleasant celebration and hope you enjoy your visit with Princess Yue. I know the two of you remain very close, and honestly, I would expect nothing else from you. Your heart is open._

_Yours,_

_Just Zuko_

Sokka chuckled as he folded Zuko’s crinkled letter, somewhat aged in the sun and saltwater air. The edges were crumbling more than Zuko’s fancy parchment would under normal circumstances, but the letter had travelled far and endured an entire afternoon in Sokka’s pocket, edges exposed to the sun as Sokka napped on deck. Katara had kicked him sharply in the ribs when it was time for dinner, further putting off the letter. He finally read it by the last of the sunlight before climbing below deck for the night.

Sokka watched the sunset for a while longer, burrowing his hands in the body heat beneath his parka—he’d left his gloves in sleeping quarters with the rest of his things, like an idiot. The closer they got to the North Pole, the colder it grew, the balmy heat of the middle latitudes blurring into temperatures progressively closer to freezing. Sokka wondered if he’d wake to find the deck dusted in snow.

He finally made his way to bed after his nose went numb, thankful for the insulation between the outer hull and the walls of the ship. Sokka climbed down the ladder carefully, landing as softly as he could before he crept along the narrow hall to the small cabin he shared with Katara—his father and Bato took up the roomier quarters next door, and everyone else slept in bunks and hammocks on the other end of the ship, tucked behind the galley. The ship was close quarters compared to the towering steamship Sokka had taken home from the Cherry Blossom Festival, but it was large compared to most of the vessels the Water Tribe used, the small fishing boats and ice-dodging rafts. Two smaller boats flanked theirs, carrying other passengers who’d chosen to visit the North this year.

Sokka opened the door to the cabin carefully, his eyes on the hall instead of the room—so when he turned, Katara’s gaze, lit by silver moonlight and yellow candle flame, scared him half to death. She appeared otherworldly, and even though Sokka was a skeptic of the nautical folklore he’d heard around the world, the split lighting on her face reminded him of the mischievous spirit said to prey on sailors’ dreams. It was justifiably spooky in the moment, which was why he yelped and reeled backward into the hall again, falling on his ass.

“Sokka,” said Katara, barely above a whisper. “Shut up.”

Sokka crawled into the cabin and closed the door behind him, pouting quietly. He poked his head into Katara’s narrow bunk by the window, scoping out what she was reading—something about firebending? Weird, but boring. She swatted him out of her space, and Sokka clamored into his own chosen bed—the hammock strung across the room. It wasn’t as easy as just taking one of the cots along the wall, which was exactly why Sokka wanted it.

“Where were you?” asked Katara as Sokka settled into the hammock, wiggling underneath the blankets and furs and causing it to swing with his movement.

“Watching the sunset,” he said. Katara sighed. “Fine, I was reading Zuko’s letter, too.”

“Thought so,” she said. “You can send your reply from Agna Qel’a when we arrive. They don’t have hawks, but the arctic birds are just as good at delivering letters—though you know that.”

“I do,” said Sokka. “All of Yue’s letters come by arctic messenger bird, unless she just sends mine right back. I should get one of those for myself, honestly. The hawks we have at the Capitol bite me all the time because they hate the cold so much.”

“I don’t think that’s why,” said Katara. “You probably smell like meat.”

Sokka grumbled incoherently and shimmied further under his covers, hearing the faint crinkle of the letter in his pocket. It would be fine, and he was already warm, but in the morning he’d put it in his bag for safekeeping. Sokka closed his eyes and mimicked loud snores, in the hope that Katara would leave him alone if he signaled that he was going to sleep.

“You’re getting along with Zuko,” she said after a long spell of silence after Sokka dropped his charade. Sokka grunted indignantly. “Oh, hush. You’re not sleeping yet. I just never thought I’d see the day.”

“You’ll never see another day if you don’t leave me alone.”

“I’d drown you where you stood,” said Katara. “Anyway, it’s a good thing. I don’t mean to make it seem like you should be embarrassed. I’m glad that your obsession with him is becoming a more positive influence.”

“Not obsessed with him,” said Sokka.

“Sure,” said Katara. “Goodnight, Sokka.”

Sokka considered saying something rude in response, or perhaps further fighting her accusation, but he really didn’t feel like rousing himself from his comfortable position and steady breathing just to sass his baby sister. So, Sokka slept.

They docked in the Northern capital late the next evening, and Sokka wrapped a blanket around himself in addition to his thick parka as he disembarked from the ship and got right back on another boat—this time a canalboat headed to the palace, where the Chief, Princess Yue, and Aang were waiting for them in their receiving hall. It was past their supper time, but the guests were given baskets of bread and jerky to take to their rooms.

Once she was away from her father, Yue wrapped Sokka in a hug, her arms slipping under his blanket cloak and squeezing him around the middle.

“I missed you,” she said. “Gi is here and I love him dearly, but he doesn’t make me laugh the way you do.”

“I hate to tell you this, but Funny Sokka’s not here right now. You have cold and tired Sokka, probably well into tomorrow morning,” said Sokka. “I missed you, too. How’s your mother?”

Yue pressed her face into Sokka’s chest, so that all he could see of her was her elaborately styled white hair poking out from under his blanket. Sokka rubbed her shoulder in a comforting gesture, waiting for her to breathe through the moment of pain she was enduring, tucked against his body. Finally, Yue reemerged, dry-eyed and with a red mark on her forehead from where it pressed against Sokka’s pendants. He poked the mark with his index finger, and Yue smiled.

Sokka knew that his bedroom was between Katara’s and Aang’s, so he knew there would be a lot of slumber-party giggling and perhaps other things he didn’t want to hear. Luckily, Yue was happy to sneak Sokka up to her room and order him a real meal from the kitchens. She sat at her vanity in her nightdress, Sokka undoing the loopies and braids in her hair until it flowed in a wavy river down her back. She the door when the room service arrived, thanking the servant warmly before she handed off the hot seaweed soup off to Sokka.

“Mother’s no better,” Yue said, finally. She met his eyes in the mirror as she combed through her hair so she could do it up in a more comfortable braid for sleeping. “She has time, and the healers are still trying, but…I miss her already. She’s so tired and uncomfortable, so she sleeps most of the time, and I can’t help but miss her. I’d sit with her all day if I could.”

“Katara has offered to try her hand,” said Sokka. “She’s planned a research trip to Ba Sing Se University and everything, you just have to say the word.”

Yue laughed softly, setting her hairbrush on the table and climbing onto the bed with Sokka. She sat cross-legged before him, composed and beautiful, but she was more unraveled than she seemed. The only other time he had seen Yue like this—he admittedly did not see her often, since they lived on opposite sides of the world—was after the Siege of the North, when war really came to her door for the first time. Sokka remembered his own introduction coming almost the same way, with soot in the sky and the loss of his mother.

Now, the war was over, but Yue was facing a different conflict. Her mother was battling with her own body, and it seemed like she would lose. Not today or tomorrow, but sooner than Yue had expected, and after a painful decline. 

“Katara can try,” said Yue. “But I don’t think she’ll find anything. I think that when Mother’s time comes, it will be time for her to go. We can’t keep her here forever.”

“Katara _will_ try,” said Sokka. “I mean, I’m a fighter, too—but Katara fights death tooth and nail. She’ll always…she never wants to let anyone go, even if it’s time, or it’s _for_ something. I admire her determination and all, but it also hurts her so much, you know?”

Yue nodded. “She held onto your mother for a very long time, didn’t she?”

“She still does,” said Sokka. “I think she’s had more closure, since, but…it’s part of the reason we don’t talk about it much. To Katara, the fact that I didn’t hold on as tightly—to her, it’s like I didn’t love our mother as much as she did. She said that to me, once.”

“How cruel,” said Yue.

“She didn’t mean it,” said Sokka. “It hurt, but it came from a place of…of grief and trauma. I forgive her for it, but it’s not true.”

“ _Of course not_ ,” Yue said emphatically.

Before he could muster up a reply, or more advice for Yue, there was a soft knock on the door. Yue’s head whipped around. She got up quickly, gesturing for Sokka to hide behind the bed as he had when the attendant brought the food up. Yue cracked the door open to peer into the hall, and then made a sound of relief and contentment. Sokka dared to peek, making eye contact with a flustered Gi as Yue ushered him into her room.

“Oh. Hello, Sokka,” he said. Sokka pushed himself up but stayed on the floor, folding his arms on the bedspread and offering up a cheeky grin. “What are you doing here?”

“Talking about death,” said Sokka.

“Naturally,” Gi replied, situating himself at the vanity. “Forgive my interruption. I just…usually I’m the one hiding under the bed if someone knocks this time of night.”

Sokka laughed. “I promise I’m not stealing your girlfriend.”

Gi grinned an entirely unexpected grin. “She didn’t tell you?”

“I was getting there,” said Yue, ruffling his hair as slid up behind him. Rather than returning to Sokka, Yue rested her chin softly on the crown of Gi’s head and draped her arms over his shoulders, ribbons of her hair falling around them. She looked happy, like just touching him was a balm to her distress. It didn’t fix the problem, but it was soothing on the surface. “Gi and I are announcing our engagement at the banquet tomorrow.”

Sokka sprung to his feet, stumbling over to wrap his arms around the both of them at once, rambling congratulations and well wishes. Yue laughed and shoved him away, her hand in his face. Gi was much more polite about it, thanking him for his enthusiasm.

“My father has mixed feelings,” said Yue. “You know he’s been itching to marry me off, but now he worries that I’m rushing because of Mother’s illness. He’s not _entirely_ wrong, but…Gi and I had already spoken about it long before she fell ill. We’re not hurrying into anything, we’re just…”

“Adjusting the plan,” said Gi, sounding so very pragmatic but looking up at Yue like the enamored son of a bitch that he was. “We want Yue’s mother to see her married. So, we’ll try our best to make sure that happens. Besides, part of the reason Arnook is on the fence is because I’m not the suitor he wanted Yue to pick.”

“I’m so happy for you,” said Sokka again. “Even if the circumstances aren’t ideal, I’m—it’s just so _exciting_. Another royal wedding!”

“And you’ll stay away from the cake,” said Gi, earning an outburst of laughter from Yue and a face full of her hair as she moved her head. Sokka pretended to pout, but when Gi swept aside Yue’s locks and peered out, he looked like he was wearing a silvery-white wig, and Sokka couldn’t keep it up.

The three of them laughed together for an hour or so more before Sokka crept back to his guest quarters, where he cracked the drapes open to gaze out at the last sliver of the moon before the cycle began again.

When he changed into his nightclothes, Sokka stayed in his warm underclothes and planned to bathe away the sweat and sea in the morning. When he ditched the wrapped shirt, a roll of parchment fell noisily from the inside pocket, rolling across the floor across a tile and a half before Sokka picked it up.

He laid Zuko’s letter out on the desk included in his guest room, as a reminder to draft his reply in the morning.

****

_Dear Just Zuko,_

_I don’t really have a title. I’m just a dude related to a more important dude. I have a few official duties, especially when it’s time to help my dad with the election (which is alarmingly soon—it begins in the fall, on the equinox). But yeah, I’m just Sokka._

_I’ve never really thought of you as just Zuko, but I think I’m starting to. There’s a pretty cool guy under all that prince shit. Take away the fancy clothes and posture and muss your hair (there’s no doing away with your damned attitude…) and you’re warmer. Here I’m using your definition, from that day on the museum steps—somewhere I’d want to be. Not that you’re a place; you are very much a person._

Sokka tapped his brush against the inkstone, groaning loudly when the pool of ink there splattered across his letter and his idling hand. He was stuck, and now that the paper was marred Sokka felt like he should just start over. Perhaps in his new draft, he could avoid talking about Zuko like that—like he was something inherently special, a welcoming place for Sokka to let loose a little.

It was far too corny and far too early in their friendship for Sokka to burden what they’d built with that kind of shit.

He resolved to start over after the events concluded that night, since he’d have more to write about then, anyway. Yeah. He’d start over.

Sokka crumpled up the trash letter and tossed it behind him, laughing when it landed in his open bag. He gave his brush a cursory rinse in the washroom and put the lid on the tin of ink, before hustling into his ceremonial clothes and the big fluffy traditional parka.

The day was packed with events, including traditional meals (Sokka’s favorite part, obviously) and reading of lore and primary sources dating back to the original Water Tribe. Katara and Aang participated in traditional waterbending forms on the palace steps, while Sokka mingled with the crowd of dignitaries, carefully wheedling endorsements for his father out of two or three. As the daylight waned, the two Chiefs, Aang, and two select waterbending masters disappeared to perform unity ceremonies in the Spirit Oasis—Sokka sulked with Gi and Yue, who were still sitting on their fabulous news until the evening festivities.

When the last of the sun dipped out, the crowds around the palace and along the canals grew quiet in increments; the stars stretched out above them and in the place where the moon usually hung, a blank space. Instead of despairing at the darkness, the New Moon Celebration embraced it as a beginning. A dazzling beacon of potential. Northerners and Southerners alike prayed for a blessed lunar cycle, for the vitality of Tui and La, and for the continued unity of the sister tribes—some were silent and others whispered loud enough that their voices reached Sokka’s ears, but he could never make out their words.

Before ringing in the gala that would spin on all night, Chief Arnook stood before his people, Yue at his side, to announce the upcoming union between his daughter and her longtime suitor; it was to the displeasure of some (Sokka could see them sneering in the crowd) but the applause drowned out the scorn. Gi presented her with an engagement choker that she showed off to Sokka as soon as she saw him; it was the traditional blue leather band, but Gi had wrapped it in satiny green ribbon and made the pendant of a marbled stone from his hometown in the Earth Kingdom.

The party flowed between the uppermost tiers of the city, and people flowed easily between buildings and refreshment stalls and the warming torches placed along the promenade. Arctic plants bore crystalline frost that sparkled in all of the light, placed deliberately in flowerbeds that dotted the gala space. There was very little agriculture to speak of in the long history of the Water Tribe, and they relied on hunting over gathering, but that didn’t mean that the berries and mosses and tiny tundra flowers weren’t beautiful.

Sokka had an idea, and it took a great deal of willpower not to dart away from the festivities early to scribble about it in his journal. Instead, he tried to turn it over and over in his head so he’d remember, before rejoining the masses of his people dancing and merrymaking. He drank a warm liquor and danced with gorgeous women that Yue introduced to him and eventually stumbled into his father and Bato holding hands and smiling at one another, cheeks ruddy with alcohol.

Sokka wondered briefly what the more uptight northerners would think, before realizing that they probably would be so caught up in the festival to notice how attached Chief Hakoda was to his primary advisor. Besides, even when they didn’t like it, Water Tribesman usually stayed out of the personal business of others—though big names like Sokka’s father sometimes proved to be an exception.

Sokka returned to his room to dig for his journal, instead finding his discarded letter to Zuko balanced at the top of his bag. He unraveled it and decided it wasn’t so bad, after all—inhibitions were low, but not low enough that his next crack at it would be total nonsense.

_Dear Just Zuko,_

_I don’t really have a title. I’m just a dude related to a more important dude. I have a few official duties, especially when it’s time to help my dad with the election starting this fall. But you’re sort of right, I’m just Sokka. I don’t know what else there is to be._

_I’ve never really thought of you as just Zuko, but I think I’m starting to. There’s a pretty cool guy under all that princely stuff. Take away the fancy clothes and posture and muss your hair (tragically, there’s no doing away with your attitude…) and you’re warmer. Here I use your definition of warmth, from that day on the museum steps. You are like somewhere I’d want to be. I’m learning that._

_Not that I’ll admit I was totally wrong to have an issue with you before. You were, to put it delicately, a mean-spirited little shit when we met._

_We didn’t really do the New Moon Celebration when I was a kid; it’s sort of vital that the tribes are at least a little united for it to mean anything. The war estranged us; we didn’t even send correspondence to the Northern Water Tribe and I’d never been before we came here with Aang. It was too dangerous to even think of travelling so far when the Fire Navy was at large; it was easier to defend the villages when we stayed there. That said, I’d happily go to the museum with you again. There was so much I didn’t really get to see. Plus, the reference library. Need I say more?_

_The celebration went well today, very measured and formal but also really fun. I am slightly drunk on it. The city is beautiful as ever, but especially in the sunlight—everything sparkles. Anyway, the news might reach you by the time my letter does, but I want to tell you anyway: Yue and Gi are engaged! I’m excited to see them married and starting their life together. I’ve just met Gi, but I trust that he’s a match for her—this is undoubtedly a love marriage, which is something Yue had to fight her father for. And now she gets to be happy._

_I like Kazu. Sounds like a friend you’d want to have around. He’s smart and funny, and even if he’s not the lead I hope the hottest actor gets to play him. It’s what he deserves. You really should get someone to put on the play—I’d see it. But not the Ember Island Players. Anyone but the Ember Island Players. Write to Aang about it, too, I think he’d want to know it exists. I know it was written in the Fire Nation, but maybe there’s something in it that would feel like home to him._

_The anthology I got is really great. I like the love stories the best, but there’s also one about the birth of Ran and Shaw and the Sun Warriors. This account frames dragons and firebending as a gift from the sun spirit Kosuke. I’d never really heard of Kosuke before, so I talked to Aang about it briefly today—when I could pin him down a second—and he said the sun has a spirit but that it often goes unnamed. It’s just a given. It’s just life. But this story had Kosuke, who made the dragons. I just thought that would interest you._

_We’re heading home in the morning, so next I write you I’ll be in the South again –I think. Spirits forbid I get kidnapped by pirates and held for ransom._

_-Sokka_

_****_

_Sokka,_

_I hope you’ve reached the South Pole safely. I saw some storm clouds this afternoon and worried that the sailing conditions might be dangerous around the Fire Islands—you’re probably passing through there today or tomorrow, if I remember the course correctly. I’ve been around the seas, myself, as you know._

_It makes me happy to know that you’re warming up to me. Pun intended. You’re right that I was very dramatic and mean when we met, and while I’ve done the work to be kinder, my temper remains. I must warn you that I’m still dramatic as all out, as well. Hence the plays._

_I’m quite interested in the story about Kosuke giving us the dragons, though I worry that it’s a little reductive of the dragons. Mankind is petty and destructive, but Ran and Shaw focus their energy to creation, education, and beauty. We’re stupid little creatures they helped once or twice. But I do agree that the sun is life. I’m sure its spirit would want us to thrive._

_I’ll do my best to influence Kazu’s casting decision, though I fear that allowing him to be as stunning as you say will make it all the more tragic that the play leaves him cast aside and single. There’s not even an implication that he ends up with someone—they just return home and his brother marries and his nephew is born, and Kazu ends the play just as he started. He's the fool. The lovely, unmatched fool._

_I eagerly await a reply, at the very least to know you haven’t been kidnapped by pirates. I have an inkling they’d give you back quickly, though—when your goal is to annoy, you’re absolutely lethal._

_Sincerely,_

_Zuko_


	11. Chapter 11

After Sokka’s declaration that he was tired of boats—well, he’d actually said that he would never set foot on a boat again, but that wouldn’t be feasible at all—Zuko had offered to send one of his family’s massive airships to the South Pole again. In his next letter, Sokka had talked him down to a much smaller, much less intimidating balloon. Sokka was more comfortable in the basket of the balloon, boasting a United Republic symbol and not the Fire Nation’s, and with robust knowledge of the vessel’s inner workings and steering system. He could fly it himself, if he wanted to.

The newer balloons had glass shields and insulated baskets, but the cold air still crept in to ruffle Sokka’s wolftail and bite through his parka at the higher altitude. Even when the air warmed, it was only enough that he could shed that warm outer layer, and it wasn’t until they began the descent that Sokka could shed anything else. And by that point, he was shucking them off like they were going to burn him alive.

It was a hot day on the caldera. As soon as the balloon dropped him off near the palace, Sokka hustled up to his guest quarters in Zuko’s room, practically mowing down the guide that had been sent for him. Against the wishes of said guide, Sokka also lugged his own bags, having packed more for a longer stay—longer than he’d ever stayed in the Fire Nation since the end of the war.

Zuko was in some sort of meeting with the ministers and his uncle, so Sokka arrived to empty chambers, but he knew now where to go. He thanked the guide for greeting him and sent them off, and then deposited his things on the floor of his bedroom before making a beeline to the bathroom. He dabbed at his sweat with a damp cloth and changed into lighter clothes, feeling fresher by the second.

He spent a moment in front of the mirror fussing with his hair, undoing his wolftail entirely to smooth out the stray hairs and tie it up at the correct place on his head. He couldn’t walk around the Fire Nation palace with a droopy wolftail. While he was at it, he considered a shave—he hadn’t bothered with it at sea, since the waves could jostle his blade and take a chunk of his cheek, and he’d only been home three days before leaving for the Fire Nation.

Three days was plenty of time to shave, but Sokka liked the light stubble he was growing along the very edge of his jaw, on his chin, and along his upper lip. It wasn’t as dense as he sometimes wished, but he’d coveted facial hair for so long that the barest hint of it sometimes left him awed for hours. But he didn’t have time to get lost in his devastating good looks and masculine charm—he had a prince to track down.

Sokka gave himself one last look before turning on his heel and marching out of the bedroom, nearly running straight into Zuko’s attendant, Toshi, near the main entrance of Zuko’s chambers. It wouldn’t have been weird to see Toshi there, since he was Zuko’s personal servant and worked overtime of his own volition, but the thing that struck Sokka as especially strange was Toshi’s cargo.

He was carrying a tray of raw meat.

“Uh,” said Sokka, steadying Toshi’s arms with his hands on his elbows and preventing the cuts of meat from spilling across the parlor floor. “Hi.”

Toshi flushed. “Mister Sokka, Sir. My deepest apologies.”

“Nah, it’s fine, but…sorry, that’s not for me, is it?” asked Sokka, withdrawing a little and pointing to the tray. “Is this Prince Zuko’s idea of a joke?”

“No, sir.”

Sokka furrowed his brow further and lifted his hand to his chin, stroking idly at the barely-there beard. Toshi shifted his weight awkwardly.

“Too bad. That would’ve been hilarious, if wasteful,” said Sokka. “Though I suppose Zuko could just cook it up himself.”

Almost as if he was fumbling with the answer, Toshi explained, “That’s what they’re for, sir. Prince Zuko’s midnight cravings of. Assorted meats. Yes! He keeps them in his personal icebox and cooks them up when he’s hungry.”

Sokka eyed Toshi suspiciously. If that were the truth, someone with an appetite like Sokka’s really had no room to judge, but he hadn’t realized Zuko knew how to cook. Brew tea and wipe tables, maybe, but properly season and roast a fine cut of meat? Not to mention, some of the meats on Toshi’s tray looked more like scrap and giblets than anything appetizing.

“Sokka!” Zuko’s voice interrupted the line of thought. Sokka turned to see him standing at the threshold of the room, one side of the grand doors tossed open, Zuko’s hand casually propped up against the still-closed side. He beamed, quickly kicking aside the shoes he wore around the palace and approaching Sokka and Toshi. His attention was all on Sokka for the moment, the same hand that held the door coming up to Sokka’s shoulder to rest there, squeezing lightly. “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” said Sokka. “Did you forget I was coming?”

“No,” said Zuko. “I’m just happy to see you.”

Sokka felt a little flabbergasted at that. It was so direct. It was so _earnest_.

“Um,” said Sokka. “Ran into Toshi, here. With your meat.”

“My meat…? Oh! Thank you, Toshi, I’ll take that,” said Zuko hurriedly, taking the tray from Toshi’s hands smoothly before the attendant could protest. “I’ll just put it, um…”

“In your icebox, sir,” said Toshi.

“Yes, in the icebox. Thank you,” Zuko said. “See to it that we take afternoon tea up here. Or—Sokka, have you eaten lunch? Of course not, spirits, you took the balloon. Toshi, have the kitchens whip up something fast, simple. Whatever it is, send a lot of it.”

“That’s not—” Sokka tried to interrupt. 

“Right away, sir,” said Toshi, bowing his head to Zuko before walking briskly through the still open door and shutting it primly behind him. Leaving Sokka with Zuko and his tray of meat.

“Hey,” said Sokka to the newly-awkward silence.

“Hi,” said Zuko. “Sorry, are you not hungry?”

Sokka laughed. “I packed snacks, so it’s not like I’m wasting away. But I could eat.”

“You could always eat,” said Zuko fondly. “One of the first things I noticed about you was how you pack it away. And you were so scrawny then, I had no idea where you were putting it.”

“Oh yeah? Do you still feel that way?” asked Sokka, doing his best to flex without being too ridiculously showy about it. Zuko’s eyes traveled up and down Sokka’s form, appraising the muscle he’d built in the years since they were kids. He’d grown a bit, but not extensively—he and Zuko still stood at almost the same height—but Sokka was like his father. Shorter than the average man in the Water Tribe.

But he felt tall in the Fire Nation, where being as tall as Zuko meant he _was_ the average height.

“No,” said Zuko after a long pause. “I know now that you eat like that so you have the energy to be _constantly too much_.”

“Aw, there’s not too much of me,” said Sokka. “Not for you, your royal jerkness.”

“You’ve always been too much for me,” said Zuko, breaking off to carry his tray to his bedroom like it was nothing.

“So, uh. What’s that about?” asked Sokka, following him and gesturing to the hunks of meat on the glazed tray, though it was oddly scuffed for piece of royal china. There was even a chip along the lip, now that Sokka was looking.

“Yeah, it’s not for my personal icebox,” said Zuko. “I don’t actually have one, though it’s a pretty good idea. This is pet food.”

“Pet food.”

“Yes,” said Zuko. “I just…I don’t talk about him much. My pet. And Toshi knows it’s somewhat hush-hush around everyone but the family and Aang.”

“Aang knows about your secret pet?” asked Sokka, sounding a little petulant. It wasn’t as if he’d been kept out of a loop he should’ve been in; until very recently he’d considered Zuko his sworn enemy. Aang and Zuko had been close since…well, since their firebending training field trip to the Sun Warriors’ ancient city.

“Yeah,” Zuko said, leaning against his door. Sokka hadn’t seen it before, but there was an extra latch there—a deadbolt that could lock from the outside. “Um, Druk was a gift from Ran and Shaw a few years back, when Aang visited the Sun Warriors to check in, but he has his hands full with Momo. So, he gave Druk to me.”

“That Momo,” said Sokka. “He’s an agent of chaos, that one. I miss that little guy.”

“Right, well,” said Zuko. “Druk is no picnic.”

“See, you still haven’t said what he is, so I’m just picturing another Momo,” Sokka said. “I know that can’t be the case, because he wouldn’t be carnivorous and he wouldn’t need to be kept secret. But that was just where my mind went.”

“Yeah, no,” said Zuko. “He’s not a lemur. But…well, I think it’s just easier to show you.”

“This isn’t a trap, is it? Are you about to scar me for life, somehow?”

“No,” said Zuko. “It’s Druk’s lunchtime, and he’ll get cranky if I don’t feed him. Do you want to see him or not? It’s as good a time as any—he’ll be distracted by the food at first so he’ll barely notice you, and I was going to have to tell you anyway if you’re going to visit more often.”

Sokka chewed idly on the inside of his lip—the way Zuko was talking about this pet of his was cryptic and made Sokka kind of nervous, especially when he brought up that the food would serve as distraction. Distraction from what? Eating Sokka’s foot off? But Zuko had said it would be easier to show him, and Sokka had no room to protest. And no time, either, because Zuko was turning back to the door and turning the lock.

Sokka edged his way behind Zuko as the prince opened his bedroom door. Zuko had seemingly thrown caution to the wind, tossing it open like it was nothing when every other time Sokka had watched him come in and out, there was barely enough space to slide into the room. That made a little more sense, now that Sokka knew he was hiding an animal in there.

Sokka inched into the room after Zuko, who waltzed in and set the tray on the bench at the end of his bed. At first glance, the room was grander and more elegant than Sokka’s guest quarters, but nothing in it seemed amiss. A tall bookshelf stretched along one wall, and more cushy seating had been installed beneath the windows—Sokka could just picture Zuko curled up there, reading his plays and laughing at the parts he’d tell Sokka about later.

But scratches on the bench and bedpost and a clearly torn pillow spilling stuffing in one corner of the room indicated that yes, there was some creature living here.

“Uh, Zuko?” asked Sokka, looking around the room for any sign of life besides himself and Zuko. “I don’t see a pet anywhere.”

Like it was nothing at all, Zuko rounded the bed and crouched beside it, taking hold of something. Sokka heard the sound of a weighted thing sliding across the floor as Zuko pulled, finally emerging with the edge of a pillow clutched in his hands. A pillow with the noticeable shape of an animal inside the case—like it had been chewed open and made into a nest.

It was definitely larger than a winged lemur.

“Wakey wakey,” said Zuko. “I brought you some yummies, boy.”

A series of clicks and hisses came from within the pillow, and Sokka unconsciously took a step back. Zuko, having discarded his Princely Dignity, knelt on the floor to reach inside the pillowcase and pull the animal out—what emerged was a writhing mess of scales the size of a herding dog, with a mane of orangey fluff down the line of its spine. A lizard of some sort, almost like a—

The thing leapt from Zuko’s arms and scuttled to the tray of meat, claws clicking on the floorboards and teeth against the ceramic tray when it dug in.

“Tui and La, Zuko. Is that a fucking dragon?”

“Yeah,” said Zuko, picking himself up off of the floor. A few feathers from the pillow stuck to the front of his robes, but Zuko paid them no mind as he walked to Sokka’s side. “I said he was from Ran and Shaw, didn’t I? Druk was given to Aang and I as a reminder of what we learned from them.”

Sokka looked between Zuko and the dragon; he seemed larger now that he’d unwound himself, showing off his long body and the wings that fluttered idly as he ate. They were too small to keep him aloft, yet, if Sokka’s knowledge of flight was worth anything, but they could still stir up a breeze in the room. Sokka was past the initial shock, he thought, though his eyes still felt too wide and he had to bring his hand to his chin to get his jaw from dropping all the way to the floor. To cover up the motion, Sokka rubbed his palm over his mouth as he continued to watch Druk eat, mumbling nonsense to himself.

“Can he fly?” asked Sokka.

“Not yet,” Zuko confirmed.

“Thought so,” said Sokka. “So, you learned the secrets of firebending from giant ancient dragons and they gave you a baby dragon that you now keep in your bedroom…Spirits, how big is he going to get? How much has he _grown_?”

“When he was born he was like this,” Zuko held out his hands in an approximation of Druk’s original size, which was much closer to Momo’s measurements. “That was four years ago? So not much. I think dragons grow slowly, or maybe he needs more time out to—well, to stretch his wings. There’s no handbook.”

“That you know of,” said Sokka, distantly.

“Right,” said Zuko. “No handbook that I know of. My mother brought a cat from her home in Hira’a, basically the only thing she got to keep from her life there after she was strongarmed into marrying Ozai. I remember how she cared for it—Jing Jing was the cat’s name, I think—and I kind of just…did what I remembered Mother doing.”

“You…you raised him like a cat?” asked Sokka, turning to take in Zuko’s pensive expression. He looked lovingly at Druk as he sniffed out the last of his meat scraps, licking up the dregs on the tray. Sokka was still wrapping his head around the fact that Druk existed at all, so everything else about it felt like wisps of smoke in his mind. He noticed it all, but just couldn’t grasp it.

“Well, with some trial and error,” said Zuko. “He takes to the sandbox like Jing Jing, but not to toys with bells on them. I give him bones or rope to chew, and um—he brutally murders pillows, so I keep herbs that he hates in the ones on the bed so I can sleep without him stealing them out from under me. I anticipate him being much smarter than a housecat, too, but now he’s just a baby.”

“Yeah,” said Sokka, watching as the dragon licked its chops and bared a mouth full of sharp teeth. “Just a baby.”

Zuko moved in to haul Druk up into his arms, supporting his back legs with one arm and allowing the rest of his body to coil and drape however he liked; Druk nudged aside the topknot and Zuko’s sharp traditional hairpiece, making room for his big fluffy head on top of Zuko’s.

Zuko beamed at Sokka from under the dragon’s sleepy gaze. “See? Just a big baby.”

“Um.”

Zuko laughed, scratching at the dragon’s soft underside before he took hold and wrenched him off, Druk hissing again as he was dropped unceremoniously on the bed, gnashing his teeth at Zuko. Zuko put his hand right in the dragon’s face, seemingly asking to lose it, but Druk just closed his mouth and nosed at it, licking a long stripe up Zuko’s palm. Zuko made a disgusted sound and wiped it off on his tunic, but was otherwise unaffected.

“Okay, so he’s bonded to you,” said Sokka. “Doesn’t mean he won’t eat my face while I sleep.”

“Lock your door, then,” said Zuko. Sokka’s expression shifted, likely betraying his spike in panic when he realized that he’d never locked the door to his guest room before, not realizing that a dangerous animal prowled Zuko’s rooms at night. At this, Zuko shook his head. “I’m kidding. He’s not going to eat your face.”

“So what the fuck would he do to me?”

“Lick you, probably,” said Zuko, chuckling. “It’s slimy, but harmless.”

Druk stepped down from the bed, front feet braced on the floor while he stretched out his long, serpentine spine. He yawned, smacked his dragony lips, and brought the rest of his body down, slinking around Zuko’s legs—much like the cat that Zuko had compared him to, actually. Zuko cooed at him, actually fucking cooed like it was the cutest thing in the world, and ruffled the fluff on the top of his head.

“Are you scared?” asked Zuko. He smirked at Sokka, any concern he had for Sokka’s comfort cast aside in favor of being a little shit. The duality of man.

“No,” Sokka snapped, crossing his arms defiantly. It was not a self-soothing thing at all. It was decidedly defiant. Zuko laughed again, sputtering a little like it surprised him. “I’m not scared. Just—it’s reasonable for a guy to be worried when he finds out something with teeth like those is living this close to where he’s sleeping tonight.”

“You’re so dramatic,” said Zuko. “Didn’t you have a hawk? Those things could peck your eyes out.”

“Well. He didn’t. He bit Katara once, but that was because she scared him,” said Sokka. “Oh, and he and Momo were always picking on one another, but I think Momo tried to steal his feathers, so. I did think about adopting a saber-toothed moose lion after the war, but I figured they’d hate the South Pole and also I had no idea how I could get one to the South Pole.”

“Well, Druk is friendlier than a saber-toothed moose lion,” said Zuko.

“Foo-Foo Cuddlypoops would disagree,” said Sokka, and Zuko’s brow furrowed in confusion. Oh, so he hadn’t heard that story. “Never mind. My point is, I’m not scared, just cautious. And still very much in shock. Never met a dude that just keeps a dragon in his bedroom like a cat.”

Between the banter and Zuko’s ever-changing, ever-interesting expressions, Sokka was sufficiently distracted. Distracted enough that his eyes were not on Druk—it wasn’t until Zuko tilted his head just so, his eyes soft and searching, that Sokka had the presence of mind to follow his gaze. The dragon was no longer at Zuko’s feet, instead sniffing curiously at Sokka’s pant leg.

“Uh, hello,” Sokka said, forcing himself to smile down at Druk. “How are you? Um, I mean. Nice to meet you?”

The dragon blinked at him, and Sokka caught a glimpse of the thin membrane that swept vertically across his eyes in addition to his outer eyelids. It was actually incredibly cool, which lessened the intimidation factor by a little. But just a little—Druk’s eyes were still huge and reptilian, slitted pupils through green and gold irises. It was doubly frightening when he rose up a little, lifting the front of his body from the ground to bat at Sokka’s hip. Sokka flinched, startling a raspy sound out of the dragon as they sprung apart.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” said Sokka, clutching his chest.

“I think he was just going for your belt. Do you have food in there?” asked Zuko.

Sokka remembered the two pieces of seal jerky he’d left in his pouch for later, breathing a sigh of relief. The dragon approached him again, slowly this time, and Sokka inched his hand toward the closure of his pouch—he could spare two pieces, especially since this wasn’t even the premium stuff. Just boring cuts flavored with plain old salt.

Sokka fished the dried meat from the pocket carefully, crouching to be closer to Druk’s level, but also to lower his center of gravity in case the dragon pounced. Not that he didn’t trust Zuko’s word—he actually found himself trusting that Zuko knew his pet well, and it wasn’t likely to hurt him, especially not with Zuko here. Sokka held out one piece of jerky to Druk, leaving enough space for him to grab hold but not nick Sokka’s fingers in the process.

The dragon snatched it up and Sokka let it go, watching the arduous process of chewing through the toughened seal. It reminded him of Bato’s polar bear dog, Kiyone, chewing the broad cuts of meat that Bato cut and dried especially for her. Kiyone was massive and had a mouth full of sharp teeth, and though she could be formidable when she wanted to, she knew her friends from her food. She was good company. Maybe Druk was like Kiyone in that way.

Zuko sat on his bed, watching the interaction between Sokka and Druk. He clapped when Sokka tossed the second piece of jerky up for Druk to catch, and he caught it by just the skin of his teeth, but was otherwise a quiet presence while Druk ate and Sokka pondered.

“Okay,” said Sokka finally. “This is cool.”

“Are you sure?” asked Zuko. He wasn’t teasing anymore. “If you’d be more comfortable in another guest room, or back in the villa—”

“Nah,” said Sokka. “I said I’d stay with you, didn’t I?”

Zuko’s breath left him quickly and audibly. “Yeah,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Then I’ll stay,” said Sokka. “Besides, hanging out near a dragon can’t be much worse than literally climbing into Appa’s mouth. Which I very much have done.”

“Yeah,” said Zuko, clearer now. Louder. Sokka didn’t know what had left him breathless—maybe just the idea that Sokka wanted to spend time with him, now—but the surprise had passed. “I remember.”

“You were pissed at me for fucking around,” said Sokka.

“In hindsight, I think part of the reason I was so pissed was because you were…frustratingly funny,” said Zuko. “You’ve always been very distracting.”

“It’s cool, I already know you think I’m annoying,” said Sokka. “It’s practically my job at this point.”

“Okay,” said Zuko. “You were annoying. And you liked to hit me with things.”

“Usually, I was just poking you.”

“You say poking, I say jabbing with intent to bruise,” said Zuko, kicking idly at the air with his stockinged foot. Finished with his snack, Druk sniffed Sokka once more before climbing up to Zuko’s side, where he coiled himself into a scaly little ball and closed his eyes. Zuko brought his hand to Druk’s head, stroking the scales along his mane with the back of his crooked fingers. “You didn’t hide how much you hated having me around, Sokka. It’s fine.”

Resigned, Sokka sighed. “I know. I’m…I’m actually sorry I was like that. And that I really stubbornly stayed like that for years. Didn’t know what to do with you if I wasn’t hating you.”

Zuko opened his mouth like he wanted to say something in response, but he thought better of it, shaking his head at himself and looking back to Druk. The dragon made a rumbly sound, like a purr but rattling and raspy. It seemed to mean the same, judging by how he leaned into Zuko’s touch.

When the lunch that Zuko had ordered for them, Sokka had almost forgotten how puckish he was feeling after the trip, he’d been so caught up in Zuko’s revelation of his dragon pet and the tender spot on his heart for Druk. Druk was closely descended from ancient beings, was full of gnashing teeth and carnivorous appetite, and his claws could probably kill a man if aimed at the right spot, but Zuko looked at him like he was a puppy he’d brought up from birth.

When Druk followed them to the table, setting his head on the surface and looking almost pleadingly between Sokka and Zuko, the comparison was even stronger. Zuko begrudged him a cut of seared fish before pointing to the bedroom; Druk trotted off with his prize and returned with his modified pillow home in his jaws, settling it before the hearth.

“Body of a dragon, soul of a house pet,” said Sokka.

Zuko rose from the table, where he wasn’t really eating so much as keeping Sokka company. He occasionally stole a piece of the pickled root vegetables to suck on, smiling when Sokka caught him like he’d pulled of a heist. He now walked across the room to join Druk at the fireplace, tutting at his pet for a moment before leaning down into the hearth. With a confident turn of his hand, Zuko lit a fire in his palm that he dropped elegantly onto the coals. Druk happily curled up before the warmth, on top of his cushion instead of inside of it.

Yeah. Zuko was endearingly soft, now that Sokka was looking at him in the right light. It almost ached, somehow—perhaps it was the regret that he’d been so determined to see Zuko as a rival and a dickhead, that he’d missed out on years of the sweet center beneath Zuko’s rough outer shell.

He ate and talked about the balloon ride, and the New Moon Celebration, and Katara’s upcoming travels to the Earth Kingdom and Republic City. Sokka lamented that he’d seen very little of Aang during the celebration, due to his Avatar obligations, and wondered if being any sort of ambassador or dignitary was really worth the time and power. Sure, Aang could bend all four elements and was an important connection to the spirit world, but he hardly had time to see how many gusts of air it took to knock Sokka out of a tree.

(The last time they’d played Murder Sokka, as Katara called it, Aang had knocked him to the ground in six tries—Aang insisted five and a half, since Sokka was barely hanging on when he was hit with the sixth. Sokka’s record with Katara was also six, but she cheated and pelted him with ice.)

“Oh, should we play Murder Sokka in the garden?” asked Zuko.

“No, because you would actually murder me. And also burn down the tree and leave scorch marks all over your precious courtyard and palace. No thank you,” said Sokka. “I would like to live to see another day.”

Zuko laughed. “I know. I was kidding. We could spar instead?”

“Yeah,” said Sokka, picking up a chunk of fish with his chopsticks and dunking it in the fire-flake sauce. He shoved it in his mouth and said, his mouth full, “Sounds great.”

After Sokka finished lunch, Zuko disappeared into his bedchamber again to change into something more suited for a sparring session; while he was gone, Sokka poked at Druk, who squirmed away from his touch and grumbled in his throat. He didn’t bite—only chomped at the air near Sokka’s hand in a clear display of warning.

“You were terrified of him earlier, now you’re messing with him?” asked Zuko, emerging from his room. He was halfway through pulling up his hair, his cord clutched lightly between his teeth, and Sokka was so distracted by the contrast of his pale fingers in his dark hair that he took a moment to answer.

“Uh-huh,” was what he came up with. “I’ve decided that forging bitter rivalries is a waste of time. Druk and I are friends now.”

“I mean, you gave him a snack,” said Zuko. “You’re probably set in his book. He’s like you that way.”

“Shut up,” said Sokka, rising to his feet. “Let’s go.”

“You don’t want to play with your new friend instead?” asked Zuko. “Maybe Druk is better company than me.”

“No, I want to hit you with things.”

“Sounds about right,” replied Zuko.

They locked up Zuko’s quarters and left Druk in the care of the guards and Toshi, who would come to collect the dishes from Sokka’s meal soon. Zuko brought Sokka not to his personal training rooms or his beloved turtleduck courtyard, but to the lawn on the side of the palace that the Kyoshi Warriors occupied. It was painted with lines that marked starting points, and pieces of a broken fan sat near one of the pillars just outside the door.

They fought hand-to-hand, having neglected to stop for their faux weapons on the way, but Sokka had fun trying to wrangle Zuko into a still enough position to pummel him. He also enjoyed when Zuko grabbed his leg mid-kick and slammed Sokka to the ground, despite how he needed to stretch out his hip and knees after and spit out the grass he ate.

The hot day was getting to Sokka, and if the way Zuko tugged at his collar was anything to go by, it was even uncomfortable for him. The Kyoshi girls who were out to soak up the sun wore only their uniforms, armorless and with the sleeves and hems rolled up. When the sweat stung his eyes and soaked through his shirt, Sokka finally grabbed onto the back and hauled off his top, tossing it onto the grass near the boundary of their makeshift sparring arena. One of the girls on the lawn whistled.

Sokka turned towards them and soaked in the attention, flexing his biceps for them and grinning as they laughed at him. Another chorus of cheers betrayed Zuko, who was also stripping off his shirt smoothly and tossing it aside.

“So it’s fair,” said Zuko.

“Rude. Now I have to compete to be the eye candy, too?” Sokka huffed. Zuko rubbed the back of his neck bashfully, as though he had something to be shy about with a hot bod like that. Sokka was admittedly a little distraught at just how hot, but there was no time to think about that when he was supposed to be kicking Zuko’s ass.

Another interruption came in the form of someone calling his name. Sokka turned, seeing the familiar, unpainted face of Suki in the doorway of the palace. Her hair was damp and Sokka guessed she’d just ended her shift and showered everything off, before hearing that he’d arrived and popping down for a visit.

As always, Sokka met her with a hug, even if he was sticky and sweaty. She smacked at his gross torso, screeching that she’d just bathed and now she was going to have to wash off his stink.

“Actually, I was going to get dinner in the city,” said Suki when he released her. “If you’re done here, I’d love to show you this place in Harbor City that we love—they just do rice bowls and sandwiches, but they’re amazing.”

“Oh?” asked Sokka, his interest piqued. “I was just gonna show Zuko what I can do with these muscles. We’ve been doing hand-to-hand, but we haven’t wrestled in a while.”

“You have your whole visit to wrestle,” said Zuko, walking across the field to retrieve the shirt he’d only just discarded. “Not tomorrow, of course. We’ll be too sore.”

Suki laughed, hiding most of it behind her hand. Sokka shot her a look that was half-question and half warning.

“Did you want to come into the city with us?” Sokka asked the prince, who turned his back to him and Suki to put his shirt back on. It was probably just happenstance. Not like he was hiding, right? “I’m sure Suki wouldn’t mind…?”

“No, I wouldn’t mind,” said Suki.

“I already promised I’d dine with the Fire Lord,” said Zuko. “It’s—we’re having a meeting over dinner.”

“Oh,” said Sokka. “Another one?”

“Yes,” said Zuko, turning and locking his eyes on Sokka. He didn’t seem thrilled about finishing up with sparring for the day, but surely he had to get ready for his dinner meeting with his uncle anyway. “Earlier I met with Uncle and his ministers, now I’m meeting with Uncle and Lu Ten. There’s a lot that goes into running a country, Sokka. We have a lot of meetings.”

“Right,” said Sokka. “Next time, then. Or—we could still go one more round. Really, it won’t be too much—”

“It’s fine, Sokka,” Zuko said, and this time his face opened up more. It was earnest, not annoyed. “It’s okay. Tell me about it when you come back, tonight, okay?”

“Yeah,” said Sokka. He bent to retrieve his own shirt, but upon inspection he realized he’d probably need another. Suki would have one he could borrow; part of him felt like Zuko was breaking off to be alone, and that following him back up to his rooms to change into something more presentable would ruin that. So Sokka would just let him go.

“Yeah,” said Zuko. With that, he was disappearing back into the palace, the door closing behind him.

Suki crossed her arms and looked at Sokka with her Knowing Look.

“What?” Sokka asked.

“Wrestling shirtless. _Tell me about it tonight_ ,” said Suki. “Somebody’s really getting along with Zuko.”

“Well, not like _that_ ,” said Sokka, pushing against her shoulder lightly. Suki rocked with it in the spirit of good fun, though Sokka knew she was too sturdy to actually fall prey to a little nudge like that. Suki was nothing if not sturdy, and Sokka had loved that about her. He still loved that about her. “We’re just friends.”

“Hear that?” said Suki over his shoulder. Sokka turned to see Hayumi approaching, her hair pulled back in simple, messy knot at the back of her neck instead of the elaborate braided thing she usually wore with her uniform. She was in a simple red dress like your average Fire Nation girl, but a sash of gold and green beads around her waist gave up Hayumi’s roots. Suki held out a hand to her, reeling her in. “Sokka is _friends_ with Zuko.”

“We thought this day would never come,” said Hayumi, her mouth tilting up in a smile.

“You and me both. All?” said Sokka, draping his shirt around the back of his neck. “So, Suki. Got anything in your treasure trunk that would fit little old me? I know I’ve filled out, but…”

“Yeah,” said Suki. “I stole a few of your things. Get over it.”

Sokka gasped, scandalized. “That’s not what I meant! You stole my clothes?”

Suki rolled her eyes and dragged him up to her quarters to reclaim what was his.


End file.
